


Facade

by dontcareajot



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/pseuds/dontcareajot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles is a famous musician on the brink of releasing his sophomore album, Alex is a successful author working on his second novel. They agree to fake a relationship for publicity despite the fact that they can't stand each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Miles is in a meeting with Alex Turner. Alex is a bloody famous writer, Miles is a musician. They've got no reason to be having meetings, as far as Miles knows. But here they are, sat across from each other in tense silence, both hungover and irritated, waiting quietly for Miles' manager to come in and explain why exactly he called his meeting.

The thing is, Miles _hates_ Alex.

Well, hate may be a bit strong but the two of them have clashed from the word go, to say the least. Alex is an attractive bloke, there's no denying it, but Miles still managed to take an almost immediate disliking to him. Largely due to the fact that Alex's reaction to meeting Miles had been a refusal to shake hands and a disinterested shrug, after which he'd fucked off to the bar and only bothered to return to their table an hour later, after what Miles assumes was heavy flirting with the cute bartender. Then he'd spent the rest of the evening in broody silence, hardly deigning to speak to anyone. Miles walked away from that encounter with the impression that Alex was an insufferably arrogant git and nothing Alex has said or done in the few times they've seen each other since then has proven that impression wrong.

Miles remembers a particularly drunken night where they'd wound up in something of a shouting match. It had ended with Alex calling him a _fucking cunt_ and storming out in a dramatic huff. This is, perhaps, Miles' fondest memory of Alex- and it isn't particularly fond at all.

This morning Alex looks about as good as Miles feels, which is to say that Alex looks like he hasn't had any sleep in decades and that he'd rather be dead than sitting in a conference room right now. Miles infers all this from the bags under his eyes and the way he's glaring daggers at his complimentary water bottle.

Miles can sympathize. He knows Alex must be hungover- the two of them were both at Matt's birthday party the previous night, where the booze flowed freely. For Miles most of the night is a blur and he'd be shocked if Alex weren't in the same state. It seemed like every time he caught sight of the other man he was knocking back a shot.

They've sat in silence up to this point, with not even a greeting when Miles walked through the door, but Miles can only handle silence for so long. Eventually he breaks it with, “You look like hell, Turner.”

Alex shifts his glare to Miles. “I still look a damn sight better than you, _Kane_.” The name is practically a snarl, what with the way Alex's voice is still sleep-rough.

Before Miles can come up with anything suitably witty to say in return, his manager- a fella called Jones- slides in the door, takes in their disheveled, unhappy appearances, and awkwardly clears his throat. “Er, good morning, gentleman. Mr. Turner. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

Alex nods. That's it, he just nods, scowl still firmly in place. His lack of proper greeting throws Jones for even more of a loop. He clears his throat again.

“I'm not sure what your publisher told you about this meeting, Mr. Turner, but we're mostly here to discuss these,” he says, placing a small stack of papers onto the table and sliding it across to them. 

The stack of papers turns out to be a collection of photographs. Paparazzi shots by the looks of them. They were all taken last night and feature Miles and Alex. Most of them are harmless. In one, it simply looks like the two of them are having a friendly discussion (Miles was actually commenting on the ridiculousness of Alex's pink blazer, if he remembers right) and in another Miles is in the midst of his toast to Matt, while Alex looks on from beside him, smiling slightly.

But others are a bit more... compromising, and it's these Miles assumes Jones is concerned about. In one, for example, the two of them are sat next to each other at the bar- too close, really. They've got their heads bent together and, since the picture is taken from behind, their expressions are hidden from the camera. If you could see their expressions, Miles knows, then you'd see that they were clearly in the midst of an argument. As it is, they just look like they've cozied up to each other.

The worst is the one taken just after the party, when they'd been stumbling to their respective rides. Miles was so drunk at that point in the evening that he's surprised any memories survived but he remembers Alex staggering into him. Of course Miles had snapped at him to watch where he was going but he'd also caught him, held him up even, and from the angle the picture is taken it almost looks like they're embracing.

“These are already all over the net,” Jones informs them. “In fact, you're trending worldwide on twitter.”

Miles pulls out his mobile and opens twitter, just to check. It turns out there are two tags about them trending. The first is simply _#milex_ while the second is _#milexgetmarried_. He clicks the first, just out of curiosity, and is greeted with even more photos, and plenty of speculation about whether or not they might be a real couple. There are a few old pictures of them too, dating all the way back to the first time they met nearly two years ago. These follow much the same pattern- the ones where they look least hostile to each other are the ones that get all the attention while the others (the one where Alex is flipping Miles off, for example, or the one where they're yelling at each other in a pub- the list goes on) get ignored.

“Well,” says Miles. “I'm still not sure why I should care.”

“'s not like we were snogging,” Alex grumbles.

Jones gestures towards Miles' phone, still open in his hand. “Tell me, does most of that feedback look positive to you?”

“Er... yes?”

“Right. These pictures- which, as you may have noticed, are quite innocent- are generating a huge positive buzz about you two online. I've even had calls from gossip rags asking for a statement. And we thought, if all this comes from a few measly pictures of the two of you together...”

“What're you getting at?” Miles asks, afraid he already has an inkling.

Alex sighs. “Isn't it obvious? They want us seen out together more. Right?”

“Actually we were thinking of taking it a step further,” Jones says, speaking slowly, cautiously, like he's afraid of spooking them. “A few pap shots of the two of you looking chummy are all well and good, but if you were an actual couple...”

“We're _not_ an actual couple,” Miles points out.

“No, I know. But if you _pretended_ , just for a while-”

“You want us to fake a relationship for PR?”

“Precisely.”

Miles and Alex exchange a glance.

“No,” Alex says, at the same time Miles says, “Hell no.”

“Look, just hear me out,” Jones pleads, hands raised to placate them. “Mr. Turner, you've got a book due to come out in a few months. The publicity couldn't hurt- your publisher thought it was a great idea when I pitched it to her. And Miles, your second album will be released soon. You're already successful but the press from this could make you a household name. And it will allow you to come out, as you've been wanting to do for a while now. In fact, it's the only way we'd allow you to come out right now. If you're seen as being in a long-term, monogamous relationship with an already out and well-respected individual, it's far more likely to go smoothly for you.

Besides, it would only be temporary. After the press dies down from the initial coming out, after the two of you are done being the 'hot new couple', we would stage a breakup. High profile breakups garner plenty of press. Then, if you'd prefer, the two of you never have to see each other again.”

Miles and Alex exchange another glance. This one is hesitant, considering.

Miles doesn't like Alex but he could probably fake it, at least for a while, if it meant finally getting to come out. If it meant an end to all the lying and hiding. Granted, it would mean trading one lie for another... But who would this lie really hurt? Not the fans- they'd never know it was a fake relationship. No one would ever have to know. And afterward, Miles would be free to date whoever the hell he wanted, bird or bloke.

“If,” Alex begins, choosing his words carefully. “If, hypothetically, we agreed to this... What exactly would we have to do?”

It's not another no, Miles notes.

“We'd present you to the press as an already well-established relationship,” Jones says. “Perhaps going as far back as the first time you met, so you'd have to appear as one. Meaning you would need to seem comfortable around each other, comfortable with affection. And you'd need to be seen living together. Alex, we'd ask you to move into Miles' flat temporarily to make this easier. We'd schedule interviews, photo shoots, public outings, that sort of thing. But we wouldn't pack your schedule too much, of course. We're aware that you would need plenty of time to work on your novel.”

“...Right.”

Alex stares at his hands, Miles stares at Alex.

They'd be living together. What if Alex is a complete twat who's up all hours? What if he's a neat freak? What if he's a slob? Could Miles handle being around him twenty-four seven without killing him? That's the real question.

“Well,” Alex says slowly. “I think, if Miles wants to do it-”

“I do,” Miles' mouth says before his brain has really had a chance to decide anything. His mouth has a bad habit of doing that, actually. “Er, I mean. I think it could be good, you know. Good press.”

“Right, good press,” Alex parrots, sounding distant. “It's just, er. I've never- I don't like being in front of the camera, like. I've never done a live interview... Well, one, but it were a disaster, so.”

“We could train you up,” Jones assures. “And Miles will be doing most of the talking at any rate.”

Alex fidgets. Jones adds, “You don't have to decide anything now. The two of you can go home, sleep on it, and I'll contact you tomorrow. How's that sound?”

“Yeah. Good,” Alex mumbles.

They end the meeting with an awkward glance and a mutual refusal to utter the word goodbye. Miles can't believe Alex would consider this- he can't believe he's considering it, for that matter. And yet... Perhaps the pros might outweigh the cons in this case.

-

It's four in the morning and Miles is on the cusp of sleep when his mobile buzzes. It's bright in the pitch black of the bedroom. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust as he squints at the screen. It turns out it's a text from an unknown number but Miles has a feeling he knows exactly who it is.

_You really think we could pull this off?_

Alex has never texted him before. Hell, Miles isn't even sure how Alex got his number. Matt, maybe? It doesn't really matter. It's weird, receiving a text from Alex bloody Turner at four in the morning, and it strikes Miles that, if they go through with this, they'll probably be texting a whole lot more. Talking, too. And they'll have to be civil to each other at least some of the time. Strange concept, that.

**u don't?**

Alex's reply is slow in coming. Miles can picture him sitting in bed, thinking entirely too hard about how to respond. Unless he's just fallen asleep. That's always a possibility.

_I don't know. You called me a no-talent hack once_ , comes the eventual reply.

Miles remembers that night. What he doesn't remember is what exactly Alex did to incite the insult but he's sure it was something. Besides, Alex got his revenge by pouring soda in Miles' lap. Truth be told, Miles never read Alex's first novel, despite being told repeatedly by critics and friends alike that it was amazing and definitely worth a read, so Miles has no firsthand knowledge of Alex's level of talent- or lack thereof. Still, Alex doesn't need to know that.

A second message follows the first.

_Can you make convincing moony eyes at a no-talent hack?_

**I could make convincing moony eyes at a fucking tree stump turner. it's not my acting skills we need to worry about.**

Another long pause between texts. Then:

_Didn't expect you to be up._

_Can't sleep._

**why not?**

_Bad dreams..._

When not face to face with him it's easy to forget it's Alex on the other end of these texts. Miles very nearly expresses sympathy- after all, he's been haunted by nightmares before. Nightmares that kept him up for fear of repeating them. But then Alex spoils it with his next message, which serves as a stark reminder of exactly who Miles is dealing with- a prick.

_Not that you'd care, eh?_

Miles doesn't even bother replying. He rolls his eyes and tosses his phone onto the nightstand. Alex clearly doesn't think very highly of him. The feeling, it just so happens, is entirely mutual.

-

Miles is in the midst of writing when his mobile rings. It's not anything important, nothing that he'll ever show to anyone. Sometimes it just helps to write down his thoughts. Still, it's something of a bother to be interrupted.

“What?” is his greeting of choice, irritation leaking into his voice.

“Never thought I'd be someone's fake boyfriend.”

Miles makes a face. He pulls the phone away from his ear to take a peek at the caller ID and- yep, it's the same unknown number that had been texting him last night. Definitely Alex, then.

Miles sighs. “I take it that means you've agreed?”

“More or less. Weren't given much choice, if I'm honest.”

Miles leans back on the settee and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “Well, you could do a lot worse than me as far as fake boyfriends go.”

“Do worse than a notoriously flirty party animal rockstar? Hm, doubtful.” Alex sounds different on the phone. Miles couldn't say how except that maybe he's stumbling less over his words. And he sounds distracted. Which is just rude. He's the one who called Miles when he was in the middle of something, the least he could do is give the conversation his full attention. 

Miles scowls. “You know, most people find the rockstar thing attractive.”

“'s not practical,” is all Alex says. Then he abruptly switches the subject. “Do you have any, like, _good_ tea there? Only I'm not sure if I should bring me own. And- soap. Right. Going by your smell you buy the cheap shite that breaks me out.”

Miles' scowl only deepens. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“I'm packing. Nearly done, now.”

“What, already? I haven't even talked to Jones yet, he was supposed to ring me-”

“He said he did and you didn't pick up. But I figured, you seemed so keen yesterday-”

“ _Keen_? In your dreams, Turner.”

“-so I thought I'd go on the assumption that you'd agree as well. Am I wrong?”

Miles huffs. “No,” he admits. “But I'm not bloody _keen_. If anything I'm dreading it.”

“Right. Well Jones wants me over there tonight. Says we're to hash out a believable story and 'get comfortable with each other' before our big outing.”

“So soon?” Miles asks, glancing nervously around his flat. It could stand to be tidied up.

“Yep.” Alex pops the 'p'. “Why put it off, eh? The sooner we get started the sooner it'll all be over.”

Well, if Alex is going to be so nonchalant about the whole thing then Miles intends to affect that attitude as well. He tries to sound as if he doesn't really care in the slightest when he says, “So I'll see you tonight, then.”

“You will,” Alex says. Then, “Don't sound so excited.”

He hangs up before Miles can come up with a suitably sarcastic reply.

Miles sets his phone down and takes another look around the flat. He doesn't _really_ care what Alex thinks but his mum would have a heart attack if she knew he was planning on having a guest over and he left his flat in this state. He should at least clean up a little.

-

By the time Alex turns up that night Miles' flat is spotless. He's spent hours on it. Not because of Alex. It's just that once he started- why stop? Cleaning was cathartic in a way. It kept him from worrying overly much about this PR scheme he's agreed to and it made the time go by. Now that he's finished he's sort of proud.

He couldn't do anything about the sparse furnishings and lack of decoration, though. When he lets Alex in he still finds himself watching his face, looking for any sign of negative judgment. Alex gives nothing away. Bag on his shoulder, he surveys the flat with a blank expression.

Miles will admit that the flat isn't much to look at. It's probably not what one would expect from a rockstar like Miles. It's spacious, sure, but plain. It's just that he's been on tour so much since he moved he hasn't had any time or inclination to personalize it. Now he sort of wishes he had. Still, he refuses to make excuses to Alex. Let him think what he wants.

“Guest room's this way,” Miles tells him, directing him down the hall.

“Oh, good. So I won't be sleeping on the couch, then.”

Miles ignores that comment. Mostly because he can't tell if Alex is being snarky or if that was a genuine concern of his. “It's the one at the end on the right. Bathroom's across the hall. We're sharing that so don't be an arse and hog the shower.”

“No promises.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Are you going to be a prick the _whole_ time? Just asking so I know what to expect.”

Alex frowns at him over his shoulder. “I'll stop when you stop.”

Miles doesn't take the bait. They can't start arguing the very first night. That wouldn't bode well for the rest of their fake relationship. Instead, he watches in silence as Alex sets his bag on the bed and takes in his temporary room. Like the rest of the flat it's plain and sparsely furnished but the floor-to-ceiling windows provide a nice view of the city when you pull back the curtains and there's a desk against the wall that Miles assumes Alex will appreciate being able to write at.

“Needs some color on the walls,” is all Alex says.

Well, Miles can't contest that point. They're still the same boring eggshell white they were when he moved in. He shrugs. “I ordered take out,” he says, changing the subject. “It's in the kitchen.”

Alex is famished, it turns out. He practically inhales his food and at Miles' wondering look he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and mumbles, “I, er. Guess I forgot to eat today,” which raises a whole new set of worries about living with him. Is Miles going to come home one day and find him dead at his computer, having forgotten to eat for several days in a row? Does he often forget to bathe? Miles is friends with enough writer-types and artists (and is, in fact, one himself) that he understands getting so absorbed in your work that you forget to do and take care of basic things. He just hadn't factored that into living with Alex.

Alex sets his plate aside and clears his throat. “So. We're meant to come up with something believable to tell the press.”

Miles pokes absently at the remnants of his chicken with his fork. Truth be told he's put about zero thought into what they'll say in interviews. “I take it you have some ideas?”

“Jones wanted us to say we'd been together from the start but you've been papped kissing birds since then. So I thought we'd say, you know, we met that night, at that godawful party, liked each other, but didn't start dating until a bit later. Sometime after that publicity stunt you did with that model.”

Miles tilts a brow at him. “Have you been googling me?”

“Like _you_ haven't ever googled _me_.”

Miles shrugs. “Touche.” His google results hadn't actually turned up much, though. A few articles about Alex coming out, several boring written interviews, and heaps of glowing reviews for his book. Alex doesn't have social media of any kind, apparently. Good on him but it meant there was no dirt for Miles to dig up.

He sits forward. “Alright, so say an interviewer asks about our first meeting, what you thought of me. What do you say?”

Alex bites his lip as he thinks. “Hm. Well, I couldn't tell them the truth- that I thought you were an obnoxious, poorly dressed twat.”

“Oi.”

“I guess I'd say...” He gets a far off look in his eyes, like he's remembering. “I noticed you as soon as you entered the room. You were dressed rather, er, _flamboyantly_. Every eye was on you. You were utterly charming. When it came time for us to be introduced I let me nerves get the better of me- I was tongue tied. You were so... outgoing, so sure of yourself. It was intimidating. I avoided you for an hour, sure you thought I were a git. But when I came back to the table you smiled at me like we were friends. You had a lovely smile. Bright, happy. I knew then that, at the very least, I wanted to be your friend...”

Miles could almost believe every word out of his mouth. Perhaps he was wrong about being the best bullshitter in this fake relationship.

Alex does kind of spoil it with what he says next. “I suppose if we wanted to lay it on really thick I could say it were love at first sight.”

“Ugh. No. It's meant to be believable.”

“Alright. What about you, then? You'll be doing most of the talking.”

“You were an arrogant, broody snob who didn't say two words to me the whole evening. The end.”

Alex looks unimpressed.

Miles sighs. “Fine. I'd say something like...” He trails off as he tries to conjure up his memories of that night. He remembers getting butterflies in his stomach when he'd first laid eyes on Alex. He was beautiful. There was an instant attraction there. An attraction that was stomped out almost immediately by Alex's poor attitude.

But Miles clings to that feeling. He tries to spin it into a love story. “When I saw you I knew right away I wanted to have you. You were bloody gorgeous- you put everyone else in the room to shame. You were quiet the whole night, reserved, but I was determined to draw you out of your shell. The more I watched you, the more you spoke, the more I realized you were something special. I knew I had to see you again.”

Maybe it's the light but Miles would swear that, by the end of his tale, Alex is blushing.

Miles tries to imagine what life might be like if the lies they've just spun each other were true. What might've happened if their first interaction had gone as swimmingly as they said? Would they be friends now? More?

Alex clears his throat, pulling Miles out of his own thoughts. “Sounds good to me,” he mumbles.

They both seem to come to the unspoken agreement that that's enough for tonight as they start to clear the table. To Miles' surprise, Alex helps with the dishes. It's a task they go about in silence. How does one treat their enemy turned fake boyfriend? Miles has no idea, and it's probably safe to venture a guess that Alex doesn't either.

After the dishes are done Alex immediately disappears into his room. At first Miles is relieved but as he sits alone watching telly he can't help but think some company might be welcome. Even if it is in the form of Alex bloody Turner.

Still, he can't bring himself to actually go and speak to Alex. He's not even sure how to have a _real_ conversation with him. As in, a conversation that goes beyond trading barbs and glaring at each other.

He supposes he'll eventually have to learn if they're to pull this off.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, so you _are_ still alive. Good to know.”

Alex looks up from where he's sat at the table, book open in front of him. He blinks like he's waking from a dream. “What?” he says.

Miles scowls at him. It's been three days and he hasn't seen Alex step foot out of his room a single time until now. Miles has to assume he's eating and showering in secret as he a) hasn't wasted away to nothing and b) doesn't look like an unhygienic greaseball. It's not exactly a huge flat but they've somehow managed to avoid each other entirely. It's almost like Miles still lives alone except that sometimes snacks disappear from the cabinets and once he found an errant sock in the hallway. He can't decide if he's happy about this turn of events of just sort of disappointed. He'd certainly expected Alex to make more of a nuisance of himself.

“I was starting to wonder if you'd starved to death,” Miles tells him. “Or snuck out on me. One or the other.”

Alex returns his scowl. “Wait, sorry- are you annoyed at me for staying _out_ of your hair?”

Miles opens his mouth, shuts it again. Finally he grumbles, “I'm annoyed at you for existing.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Right, fine. Because that makes so much fucking sense.”

“What are you even doing?” Miles snaps. It's nearly noon but he's only just woken up. He's entirely too sleepy to come up with any suitable retorts. Besides, it's a valid question. Alex seems to be reading at the kitchen table with no food in sight, wearing a shirt with at least three holes in it, boxers covered in small pictures of cats, and only one sock. There's a pile of unopened sugar packets next to him and a spoon.

Alex blinks some more, like he's actually having to think about the answer. “I were, er. Oh- tea. I were making tea. But I got distracted.”

“By... a book...?”

“My book, actually. On _your_ bookshelf.”

“I didn't buy it,” is Miles' immediate response. He'll be damned if he lets Alex think even for a second that he did. “Gift from Matt, that was. As a joke.” Actually Matt had given it to him in an effort to get him to read it. He'd still refused. It's the principal of the thing.

“Doesn't matter,” Alex replies smugly. “Still contributed to my royalty check.”

Well. Miles can't say that isn't true. “Why the fuck are you sat here reading your own book?”

Alex fiddles idly with one of the pages, creasing and uncreasing the corner. “Same reason I imagine you listen to your own record now and again. You've got to make sure what you've put out in the world stands the test of time. That you still like it, even after some distance.” He shrugs. “I saw it sitting there and couldn't resist a quick skimming.”

It's a surprisingly honest answer. Miles doesn't quite know how to respond. In the end it doesn't matter, though. His mobile rings and gives him an out.

“'lo?” he answers.

“Miles, hi.” It's Jones. He sounds somewhat anxious. “What are you doing? Is Turner there with you?”

Miles takes a seat next to Alex and sets his phone on the table between them. Alex goes on reading. “He is,” Miles informs Jones. “And you're now on speaker. Out with it.”

“Well, we've got your debut as a couple all arranged.”

“Oh, have you now?” Miles asks. Beside him, Alex goes stiff. If he were a dog Miles imagines his ears would be perked.

“Er, yes. Mr. Turner's publisher was kind enough to inform us of an event he was invited to some time ago. It's a red carpet event meant to honor up and coming novelists. It's mostly an excuse for a lavish party it sounds like but the important thing is there will be a carpet to walk and plenty of photographers to take pictures- more so after it's leaked that the two of you will be attending together.”

Alex has taken to staring at the phone wide-eyed. Miles can't deny the little flurry of butterflies in his stomach at the idea of finally coming out but Alex looks positively frightened.

“When?” Miles wants to know.

“That's the part you may not like...” Jones clears his throat- a nervous habit of his. “It's tonight.”

“No,” Alex says immediately, snapping out of his trance. “No, I told her I'm not going to that.”

Miles ignores him- he's got other concerns. “Fuck. I thought we'd have more time. Wait-” He turns to Alex. “Do you even have any media training?”

“It doesn't matter. _I'm not going_.”

“His publisher assures me he's had some,” Jones cuts in. “It'll have to be enough.”

“I'm not fucking going! And I'm sure as shit not going with _you_.”

That gets Miles' attention. “What? Why not?”

Alex shrinks in on himself, his anger dissipating as fast as it had come. “Because... That's a writers event. My colleagues, people I respect, will be there.”

“And you don't want to be seen with me? Oi, fuck you. I may not be some uptight, asshole _novelist_ but I'm not some fucking embarrassment either-”

“It's not that,” Alex interrupts. “It's just... the lie. I don't wanna lie to those people. And _I'm_ the guest, they'll expect me to do most of the talking. I- I don't want to go. I didn't want to go in the first place. I tossed that invitation out with the rest of them.”

“Rest of them?” Miles wonders, but Jones talks over him.

“I'm afraid you don't have much choice, Mr. Turner. But don't worry- Miles will take the lead. All you've got to do is stand next to him and smile.”

Alex groans, like smiling is a bothersome chore. Maybe, for him, it is. Miles is pretty sure he can count the number of times he's seen Alex genuinely smile on one hand.

“We'll be there,” Miles says before Alex can get another word in. He practically hangs up on Jones in his haste to cut off any more protestation. Alex glares at him for a full ten seconds before he stomps off like a child toward his room.

So be it. Miles just hopes he's gotten over his tantrum by this evening.

-

Jones sends a car round to get them both. It's a ride spent in tense silence. When they arrive they're immediately separated to be primped and prettied for the event. It's a process that takes longer than you might think and it's nearly an hour and a half later that they're reunited as they're being bustled into another car- a limo this time.

Miles can't stop casting sneaky glances at Alex. Not that he'd ever admit to it, of course. It's just that he cleans up incredibly well. He's already naturally good looking but after a team of people dedicated to making him look his best have finished with him he's undeniably a ten. In a suit and tie, with his quiff done up all proper like and his unfairly perfect bone structure he looks like an old timey movie star. Someone out of a black and white film. He looks, in a word, _elegant_ , and though he'd never ever say it aloud, it's making Miles feel sort of inadequate. He actually catches himself thinking- _will people buy that someone on his level would go for a bloke like me?_ He quickly realizes that's insanity and discards the thought altogether.

He falls back on his old standby- talking the nerves away. He's not keen on starting another argument, though, not mere minutes before they're meant to convince the world they're a loving couple, so he tries for a lighter tone as he asks, “Are you alright?”

From the outside it's very apparent that Alex is _not_ alright. He hasn't said a word since their phone call with Jones and he can't seem to stop fidgeting or biting his lip. He's so tense Miles thinks he might shatter at the slightest breeze. He seems more nervous than Miles.

He shrugs in answer to Miles' question, which isn't all that promising.

Miles tries a different tactic. “What's the matter, Turner? You really that embarrassed at having to play my pretend boyfriend?”

Alex shrugs again. “Just... don't like cameras, 's all. They make me nervous.” He turns to look at Miles for the first time since his impressive glare earlier. “What about you? Sure you're ready to go out there and tell the whole world you like cock?”

Miles laughs. “That's just how I'll phrase it. I'll start every conversation off with 'why yes, I _do_ like cock'. Let's see them spin that, eh?”

Miles is pretty sure he spots the beginnings of a smile. It fades too quickly. “Really, though,” Alex says, going somber. His eyes flick over Miles' features, searching for... something. Miles doesn't know what. “It wasn't easy for me. Coming out. And I didn't have to do it in front of thousands of people, with cameras pointed at me...”

Miles has wanted this for a long time, begged Jones for it a couple of times, but now that the moment has finally arrived he's not sure how he feels. A bit nervous, certainly, but beyond that?

“I can't take it back,” he says. “Whatever happens, I can't take it back. That's scary.”

Alex doesn't bother with a comforting turn of phrase. He hums his agreement. It's the truth and they both know it. If this goes poorly for Miles, if people don't react as favorably as his management is hoping- that's it. He may as well have committed career suicide.

Alex's fingers twitch toward Miles, like he's thinking of reaching out to him. He says softly, “I know I'm probably the last person in the world you want with you for this.”

Miles is in a generous mood. “Well, no. Not the _last_. I can think of a few worse people. But only a few.”

That draws out another half-smile. Evidently Alex is feeling generous as well- or maybe they're both thinking the same thing. That they better soften the other up so the upcoming act looks half convincing. Still, Miles preens at his compliment. If it could be called a compliment. “You know, you don't look terrible in a suit.”

“That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

Alex hums again. They both turn to look out the window in unison as the car pulls up even with the red carpet. It stretches before them, ominously long, crowds of people on either side. They can already hear the voices, the clamoring, muffled from inside the car.

Alex takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Ready?” Miles asks.

Alex nods.

The car door is opened for them. Miles steps out first, long legs unfolding gracefully as he slips into the role he's meant to play. That of the calm, cool, collected rock star. He pushes his nerves, his fears, to the far corner of his mind and plasters on a smirk. He waits dutifully until Alex is stood by his side before he proceeds. The clicking and flashes of the cameras start up immediately. Journalists shove microphones in their direction, begging for a word. Jones clearly did his job as far as letting the press know he and Alex would be here. There's a surprising number of music publications present for an event meant for novelists. Miles lets himself be drawn in by one he recognizes- Jones would kill him if he forewent the interviews entirely but he intends to get away with as few as possible. This is just a warmup, after all.

“Don't you two look sharp,” says the woman, a petite bottle-blonde. “Mr. Turner, why did you choose to bring Miles Kane as your plus one?” She's practically shouting to be heard over the controlled chaos around them.

Alex is half-hiding behind Miles. “We're, er-” he stammers. “He's my-”

Miles graciously interrupts. “We're on a _date_ ,” he says. He sounds sort of proud about it without even meaning to. Mostly it just feels like a weight off his chest. “Sometimes I date blokes. There's a scoop for you.”

“Have the two of you been dating long?” the woman asks, an excited glint in her eye. She doesn't seem the least bit surprised at Miles' news.

“A few months,” Miles replies- a vague enough answer that it doesn't nail them down to anything. He adds with a wink, “I quite fancy him.”

The woman clearly has another question on the tip of her tongue but Alex and Miles are swept up in the crowd and urged forward.

Alex takes Miles' hand and whispers, “Thank you.”

Alex's hand isn't soft. Rather, it's dry and he's got calluses. But his grip is reassuring. He's probably only doing it because it's what they're _supposed_ to do but Miles doesn't care. It doesn't matter. The contact is comforting. It's an anchor point. Miles squeezes back, a silent _you're welcome_.

The rest of the interviews go much the same way. Miles tries to come up with a different way to answer the question _why are you here together_ every time, until, at the last interview, he declares, “For fucks sake! Alex is gay, we're holding hands- put two and two together, eh?”

When he turns to Alex after, Alex is positively beaming at him. It's an expression Miles has never seen on him before. It scrunches up his face, makes him look younger. It's got Miles smiling back in an instant. Then he remembers- _right, I hate this bloke, he's an arrogant git_. He doesn't drop the smile though. People are still taking pictures of them and it makes for a good shot.

Past the red carpet, the actual event is enough to bore Miles to sleep. It's a lot of stuffy people giving speeches. There's champagne, though. And food.

A lot of people come by their table to congratulate Alex on his success. Miles rolls his eyes more times than he can count. Some of them are such obvious suck ups, such obvious _leeches_. Only a handful of them seem genuine. Alex is polite through it all but he's perpetually pink in the cheeks and Miles is aware of his leg jiggling nervously under the table. He places his hand on Alex's knee. That stills him right away so Miles keeps it there until, thankfully, it's time to take their leave.

They sit well apart from each other in the car.

“What now?” Alex asks, some distance into the journey.

Miles shrugs. “Now we wait.”

-

Miles pads into the kitchen at the godawful time of seven in the morning. Something woke him up. He's not sure what, but once his already tenuous grasp on sleep was broken he couldn't regain unconsciousness. There was no point laying in bed counting ceiling tiles.

For the first time in their brief coexistence, it seems Alex has woken up before him. Miles finds him once again sitting at the kitchen table, this time with a bowl of cereal and the paper open in front of him. He looks a different person from the one in the car with Miles last night. His hair is soft, unstyled, and he's in a baggy t-shirt that drapes over his collarbones rather than a collared suit. He looks tired but at ease- and bizarrely radiant, shrouded in the golden light of morning.

Miles has only ever known one side of Alex. The side that goes out to pubs with his mates and sticks to shadowy corners and familiar people- the bloke that turns his nose up at new acquaintances. That Alex is cool, stylish, and full of himself. Unapproachable. The Alex of last night, dapper and anxious, and this Alex, sleepy and comfortable, are new and strangely human. Miles feels thrown off.

“Morning,” Alex murmurs with a glance in his direction. He taps the paper with a callused finger. “We're front page news.”

Miles approaches the table to see for himself. Sure enough, his own face, colored in black and white, is printed there under the headline _Miles Kane's Shocking Announcement_. In the picture he's holding Alex's hand and they're smiling at each other like they mean it. It's convincing. At least, Miles thinks it is.

“It weren't really an 'announcement',” he grumbles. “'s not like I really went out there and started telling them all I like cock.”

“You may as well have. Here, listen to this.” Alex picks up the paper and starts reading an excerpt aloud. “'Miles Kane and Alex Turner arrived hand in hand to the event, looking every bit the glamorous, happy couple. The two were inseparable throughout the night. When questioned, Kane is quoted as saying, 'I quite fancy him'. Sorry, ladies, it looks like you may stand less of a chance with Miles Kane than you thought.'” Alex rolls his eyes. 

“I like birds, too,” Miles points out, even though Alex is already well aware. “Oh, well. At least there's nothing really negative there.”

“Check the... thing,” Alex urges, ever eloquent. “The tweet thing.”

Miles stares at him blankly. “...Twitter?”

Alex waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, that. See what people are saying.”

Miles trails back into his room to fetch his phone. He's got a few missed texts from Jones already but he ignores them in favor of opening twitter as he wanders back toward the kitchen. Sure enough, _#milex_ is trending again, as is _#congratsmilex_ , which is nice. At least he knows not everyone is suddenly turned against him.

He checks the first tag with some trepidation- but most of the tweets are overwhelmingly positive. There are a few negative, homophobic ones scattered about but, for the most part... People are supportive. It's incredible. Miles can't help but smile.

“Good, then?” Alex asks when he spies Miles' grin. He looks, in a word, hopeful.

“Yeah,” Miles says. “Yeah, it's... really good.”

Alex allows himself to grin back. He looks so relieved and it's not even his reputation on the line. “Do you think,” he says carefully. Then he starts over. “I think this is good, yeah? What you're doing.”

Miles settles in the seat next to him. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, if there's some kid out there, one of your fans, and they see this- their favorite rockstar, holding hands with a bloke, being out and proud, maybe it'll... help. You know?”

“I hope so. I mean, that's not why I did it. But it's a nice thought.”

“Now we just have to not fuck it up.”

“Right. Easier said than done.”


	3. Chapter 3

Miles isn't sure if it's intentional on Alex's part or not but they've started seeing more of each other around the flat. They repeat their breakfast together a couple of mornings, for example, Alex reading the paper and Miles on his phone as they sit at the same table and have eggs or bacon or cereal. They smoke together on the balcony. One night they watch telly together, sat on opposite ends of the couch.

They don't talk much and when they do it's mostly in snide comments and subtle digs. But it's... different now. Somehow. Less like they're actually trying to hurt each other. But two years of animosity can't be wiped away in an instant.

Miles wakes on the fourth day after their outing (which is still making the rounds- Jones calls occasionally to provide updates on public opinion and the like) and Alex is gone.

Not _gone_ gone. All his things are still there. But he's not in the flat.

Miles doesn't think anything of it at first. He's sure Alex just stepped out to run an errand or get some fresh air or some such. After all, he spends most of his time cooped up in his room writing. Perhaps he needed a break.

He decides not to care. Not until it's eleven at night and Alex is still gone. He can't help but be- not _worried_ , he's not worried. Alex is a grown man and not a prisoner of Miles', he can do what he likes. But... disappointed? No, he can't even admit to that much. It's just strange, that's all. He just finds it strange that Alex would choose to stay gone all day.

By mid-morning the next day, when Miles wakes and Alex is _still_ gone, he's sort of peeved. And it only gets worse as the day goes on.

Jones calls. “Gig tonight,” he says. “First time playing tracks off the new record. Nervous?”

Miles is smoking yet another cigarette on the balcony. It's his third in as many hours. More than he usually smokes. “Nah, mate. They'll love the new shit. You didn't ring just to check on me mental state, did you?”

“Er, no,” Jones replies in a tone that suggests he finds Miles rude for cutting through his bullshit. “I'm actually calling to make sure Mr. Turner intends to make an appearance tonight. This is a one-off charity gig, it's special, it'll be covered. He needs to at least be seen- and preferably photographed- at the sidelines.”

Miles doesn't want to tell Jones the truth- that Alex has disappeared to god knows where. Instead what comes out of his mouth is, “He'll be there.” He sounds absolutely sure. Jones doesn't even question him.

Miles tries calling Alex (whose number still isn't programmed in). No answer. He leaves a voicemail, repeats what Jones had said. After a couple of hours he still hasn't heard a peep out of Alex. So he tries texting and gets no reply. By time to go on he's written him off. He figures there's no way Alex will show.

And he doesn't for the first half hour. Miles tries to put him out of his mind and focus on the performance. And it's good, he can feel that it's good, the crowd (small, intimate- tickets had cost an arm and a leg, or close enough) is so into it, all of them pushing forward, trying to get as close to the stage as they can. They go crazy for the new songs and that feels good, too. But something still seems... off. Some part of him is still wondering _where is he_ and worrying at being caught in his lie by Jones.

Thirty minutes in, though, Miles looks over, stage right, and there's Alex, looking just this side of uncomfortable with one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket and the other holding a beer. He keeps throwing glances at the audience, maybe wondering if people have noticed him yet, maybe searching out the cameras. When he spots Miles looking at him he smiles and raises the bottle in a sort of toast.

Miles returns the smile, more for the benefit of the fans and cameras present than out of any actual desire to smile. He supposes there is a little thrill that comes with having Alex there. It gives him a reason to show off, an opportunity to show Alex how good he is at what he does. Mostly, though, he's mad. It's an unreasonable anger, an anger he can't pinpoint the source of, not really. He chalks it up to this- to Alex leaving him wondering and worrying and then turning up perfectly alright at the last second.

He dedicates the final song of the night to Alex, whom he refers to in an over-the-top syrupy voice as, “The light of my life, ladies and gents.” He mostly does it to piss Alex off. He knows Alex wouldn't want the attention drawn to him.

Perhaps it's a bit too much, though, because Alex is gone by the time they're finished. Miles bounds offstage, expecting to find him waiting, only to be informed by a passing roadie with a knowing smirk that, “Turner went out the back way already, mate.”

Miles figures maybe he went out to have a smoke but, no, he's not waiting just outside either. Two seconds later and his phone vibrates in his pocket, alerting him to a text. It's from Alex- Miles has got the number memorized now. It reads simply, _See you at home._

For a moment Miles' thumb hovers over the screen, ready to tap out a reply, but in the end he leaves it. He's not sure what to do with Alex's use of the word home.

-

“Where were you?”

Alex looks up from his laptop. He blinks. “Pardon?”

Miles leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. It's the first time he's seen the guest room since Alex moved in. It's fairly tidy still but he's left his mark in the form of clothes on the floor, books on the nightstand, stacks of paper on the desk, and an overflowing wastebasket. “Last night,” he clarifies, voice tight. “Where were you?”

Alex glances absurdly around the room before he replies, like Miles might possibly be talking to someone else. “'s not really any of your business,” he replies, eyebrow raised in a silent challenge. “Why do you even care?”

Miles falters. He opens his mouth, closes it again.

“Were you _worried_?” Alex scoffs at the very idea.

“Fuck you,” Miles snaps, instinct. “I were- it's- It is my business,” he insists. “You can't be seen out partying, cozying up to some other bloke!” It's not something that had occurred to him before but he latches onto the excuse, runs with it. “If the paps get a shot of you with your hands all over someone else our story is shot to shit.”

Alex stands, hands balled into fists at his sides. He's going on the defense, Miles realizes. No doubt triggered by Miles' own harsh tone. “I'm not a fucking idiot, Kane, you don't think I know that? I'm not stupid, I haven't even been near anyone else since I agreed to this ridiculous stunt.”

“Well... good,” Miles falters again. “So why can't you just bloody tell me where you were, then?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “You really wanna know? Fine, I were with Lex. Alexa. In her flat. Just us. All night. Happy now?”

A woman. He was with a woman. He wasn't out partying or getting laid, as Miles had envisioned. Miles immediately deflates, the anger leaking out of him. He sighs. “Yeah, alright,” he mutters. He won't apologize.

“She had a bad fucking breakup,” Alex elaborates- needlessly. “We got drunk on cheap wine and passed out on the settee and absolutely nothing scandalous happened.”

“I said alright,” Miles gripes.

“I'm being careful. I'm not sitting here dreaming up ways to screw you over.”

Miles sighs again. He uncrosses his arms, stuffs his fingers in his pockets instead. “Why'd you show up late? To the show?”

“Me phone were dead. Got your messages when I finally got back to the flat and charged it. I got there as soon as I could.”

Miles shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. He has to ask. “Why'd you leave early?”

“'m not great with crowds. I didn't think you'd mind.”

Miles doesn't want to fish for compliments, he really doesn't, but. “I thought you might've left, cause, you know, you didn't... er.” He ducks his head. “The music...”

Alex is quick to catch on. He looks surprised. If Miles was expecting a critique he gets just the opposite. “No, no it weren't that. You were brilliant, mate. Incredible.” He closes some of the distance between them, touches his fingers to Miles' arm, like the contact will get his point across. “Really. I loved it. I wanted to stay, I just... couldn't.”

From arguing to reassurance so quickly. Miles never would've dreamed that Alex Turner would pay him a sincere compliment. At least, he assumes it's sincere. For only the second time in their entire two years of knowing each other there's no spite in Alex's eyes. No bite to his tone. Miles is left unsure how to respond.

Alex withdraws his hand. He glances back at his still-open laptop.

“Er, sorry,” Miles blurts. “I'll let you get back to work.”

He turns on his heel and retreats to the living room before Alex has a chance to say anything. The thing is, Miles had come home angry, with the intention of giving Alex an earful, but the whole encounter has just left him feeling out of sorts.

He settles on the sofa and turns on the telly. There's an old black and white film on. He leaves it. It's all white noise anyway, or might as well be. His mind won't stop racing. All his thoughts seem to center around Alex. But that's normal, right? After all, Alex is his new (temporary- can't forget that it's temporary) flatmate, his new pretend boyfriend.... It's a very peculiar situation they've put themselves in, it stands to reason that Alex, and the situation, would be constantly at the forefront of his mind. Right?

Except it's not really the situation so much as it is just Alex. The way he'd looked when he'd called Miles incredible, for example. It _had_ been sincere, hadn't it?

Miles shakes his head at himself. He pulls out his phone, curious to see if any videos or pictures from tonight have cropped up yet. It's only been an hour and half since the show ended but this is the age of the internet. He wouldn't be surprised if pictures had been going up while he was still on stage.

Sure enough, there are already plenty of grainy pictures of Alex standing just offstage floating around online, a few excited tweets from fans who spotted him, and a six second video of Miles dedicating the final song to him. Nothing from any of the professional photographers and no headlines yet, though.

There's a text from Jones. It just says 'good job'. Coming from anyone else Miles might wonder if it was meant to be sarcastic but, rather unfortunately, Jones hasn't got a sarcastic bone in his body.

He shuts his phone off and turns back to the TV.

At some point, several minutes later, Alex settles next to him. Not at the opposite end of the sofa this time but _right_ next to him, with barely a breath of space between them. He passes Miles a beer.

Maybe it's a peace offering, Miles doesn't know, but he accepts it. They wind up watching movies and sitcom reruns together until somewhere around three in the morning, when Alex dozes off, his head on Miles' shoulder. Miles doesn't even think of waking him. Instead, he draws a blanket over the both of them and gingerly adjusts their positions until he's comfortable enough to fall asleep, too. It's not ideal but Alex is warm and the alcohol makes it easy to slip into dreams.

When Miles wakes the sun is lighting up the room and Alex is gone. Apparently he hasn't gone far, though. Miles can hear movement in the kitchen. The soft opening and shutting of cabinets, the gentle padding of bare feet across the tile, the clinking of glasses. A quick glance at his phone tells him it's nearing noon.

Miles shuffles himself into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and willing his low-level headache to go away. Alex smiles softly at him when he notices him. He looks like he hasn't been awake long himself, still loose and languid with the last dregs of sleep. He gestures lazily at a steaming mug sitting on the counter. “Morning,” he greets. “Made you tea.”

It's such a _nice_ gesture, something that until now Miles would've believed uncharacteristic of Alex. It doesn't fit with the image Miles has always had of him, of a selfish prick. It's a small thing but it's still weirdly meaningful.

He picks up the teacup but pauses just before the first sip. “Wait, it's not poisoned is it?”

Alex shrugs, benign smile still in place, and sips his own tea.

Miles decides to risk it. At least if Alex kills him it'll made for a good headline.

“You know,” he says, taking note of the circles under Alex's eyes. “We don't actually have to be anywhere until later tonight. You could've slept a bit longer.”

“Nah, mate. Had a nasty dream. Didn't feel much like sleeping after that.”

“What about?”

“Doesn't matter.” A pause, then he adds, “It's this deadline. It's got me all out of sorts.”

Miles nods like he understands. He does, to an extent, but his job comes with a different set of worries. Still, he can definitely sympathize with stressing so hard you get nightmares. “Are you, er... on track?”

Alex immediately shakes his head, then stops. “I don't want to talk about it, if I'm honest. Let's talk about this interview tonight instead, eh? Is it live?”

The interview in question is televised, some daytime talk show. Jones had set it up, along with a few others, more or less as soon as they'd agreed to the stunt. He'd forwarded Miles and Alex what he was ambitiously calling an _itinerary_ a few days back, with a note that they should 'prepare' for the interviews listed. They haven't done any preparing, mostly because Miles keeps remembering that first night, and how weird it'd felt to hear Alex talk about him like he actually cared, and it puts him off.

“There'll be a live audience but no, it's taped. It'll air tomorrow.”

“Good,” Alex mumbles. “They can edit out all the stupid shit I say.”

Miles doesn't bother comforting him. After all, he's heard Alex say some really stupid shit.

-

The woman conducting the interview is somehow both harsh and motherly, with blonde hair cut into a bob and a matching blue blazer and pencil skirt. Alex and Miles watch from backstage as she lectures the audience on healthy eating, patiently awaiting their turn to go on.

“They put makeup on me,” Alex quietly complains as he checks his reflection in a nearby mirror. “Feels weird.”

Usually Miles might have come back with a smart comment, an insult, but he gets the feeling now's not the time. Alex is on edge, the way he'd been in the car before they'd walked the red carpet. He keeps going back and looking in the mirror every few minutes, something that Miles once would've chalked up to narcissism but now he credits to nerves.

“You look good,” Miles tells him truthfully. “Stop worrying.”

Alex opens his mouth like he's got a sharp retort but evidently thinks better of it. Instead he takes a deep, steadying breath.

The host introduces them as the 'hottest new couple in the industry' and they walk on to one of Miles' songs, smiling and waving at the applauding crowd as they're supposed to. In fact, most of the interview is very cookie cutter. She starts off by asking about Miles' new album, when it'll be available, what fans can expect, etc. etc. Alex, sat with his legs crossed beside Miles on the plush, TV-ready couch, relaxes in increments as he's continually ignored. When the host finally addresses him he seems surprised, like he thought he could actually go the whole interview without speaking.

“Er, I dunno, I suppose...” is his ever-so-eloquent answer to the question 'you seem quite shy, are you quite shy'?

“It's just that, despite your popularity as an author, we hardly ever see you in front of the camera,” the host says, smiling to reveal overly-whitened teeth. “Not even for the occasional interview. Why is that, Alex? You're quite handsome. Isn't he, Miles?”

“Oh, he is that,” Miles says with a wink, drawing a few cheers from the audience. It's not a lie. It's Alex's one major redeeming quality, in Miles' opinion. “But he prefers to keep to himself. Don't you, love?”

“Sure. Yes,” Alex haltingly agrees. He taps his fingers nervously on the armrest. “I don't think knowing what I look like is essential to enjoying me books. Right?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” the host assures him, rushing to smooth over any accidental offense. “They stand on their own. Your first novel became an instant classic. We're all quite eager to see what you'll come out with next. Are you working on anything new?”

Alex flicks a glance at the camera. He nods, lips a thin, unsmiling line.

“Wonderful! What can you tell us about it? Anything?”

Alex shifts, uncrosses then re-crosses his legs. “Er, well. It's... a love story, of sorts...”

The host's smile becomes so wide it crinkles up the corners of her eyes. “Oh, splendid! Inspired by the turn in your own love life, I take it?”

“...Sort of...” Alex admits. He looks at Miles then away again. He bites his lip. Miles finds himself curious. Is his new book really anything to do with them or is he saying that for the sake of their charade?

The host leans forward in her chair, like she's eager for the next bit. “If you don't mind my asking, could I hear, in your own words, how the two of you met? Was it love at first sight?”

Alex's brow furrows as he thinks. Miles can practically _see_ the gears turning as he tries to recall the bullshit he'd fed Miles the first night they stayed together. Eventually he settles on, “No, no. It weren't love at first sight. But it were fate, I think, eh, Miles?”

“Fate. Definitely.” It's weird, hearing Alex refer to him by his first name. It shouldn't mean anything. It's just a name. But Alex so often calls him _Kane_ or _arse_ or _dickhead_ or some other foul word. He can't help but notice. It's not the first time Alex has called him that but it's the first time it's really struck Miles.

Alex falters. Miles belatedly realizes that was his attempt at throwing the question over to him. “When he walked in me eye went right to him,” Alex drawls after an awkward moment, slow, like he's carefully considering every word. “I didn't recognize him, it were before he got so famous, you know. But I were still nervous meeting him. I didn't say much...”

“I got him talking eventually,” Miles jumps in. He smiles over at Alex, mostly just as a comfort, but the audience _aw_ 's. “He's really something special. After we met we became fast friends, then, eventually... I dunno. I guess I realized I didn't want to share him anymore.”

More _aw_ 's from the audience and polite applause. The host looks thrilled with their answers, and even more thrilled when Miles reaches over to take Alex's hand. Alex squeezes his fingers. He looks... grateful.

The interview wraps up pretty swiftly after that, with only a few more standard questions that Miles is able to answer with ease. Miles and Alex are still hand in hand as they walk offset. In fact, Alex doesn't drop his hand until well after they're out of sight of the cameras. Just as a precaution, probably.

“That weren't so bad,” Miles says. “You did fine.”

Alex pulls a face. “Everyone that watches that tomorrow is going to wonder what the fuck you see in me.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “And if they ask I'll tell them you're a bloody good lay. Now come on, princess. Let's go home.”

-

Miles has only just fallen asleep when he's woken by a loud clap of thunder. It shakes the flat, rattles the windowpanes. He listens for a moment to the wind whistling past, to the torrential downpour of rain. It's as a bright streak of lightening lights up his room that there comes a soft knock at the door. It's nearly lost in the sounds of the storm but Miles just catches it, calls, “Come in.”

Alex has got a blanket draped over his shoulders and a look on his face like he's expecting a rebuke. Something about the way his pajamas hang so loosely off him makes him seem small, fragile. The dark circles under his eyes are prominent against his pale skin. “Are you awake?” he asks, rather pointlessly.

Miles props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. He doesn't bother answering Alex's dumb question. Instead he gets straight to the point. “What's the matter?”

Alex shuffles a little closer. “Er, I was just wondering if I could...” He trails off, shakes his head at himself. He decides to start over. “I had another nightmare.”

“Stay,” Miles says simply, without a thought. He knows that's what Alex wants and he gets it. He's not cruel enough to make him ask and, as mean as they've been to each other over the years, he's not cruel enough to turn Alex away either. “There's plenty of room,” he adds, gesturing at the other half of the bed.

Alex drops his blanket to the floor and climbs into Miles' bed. It should be weird, probably. Alex Turner in Miles' bed. But it's not. Or at least not as weird as Miles would have thought.

Alex searches out his hand in the dark, laces their fingers together under the covers. “Thanks,” he whispers. He's trembling. Miles can feel it.

“Are you scared of storms?” Miles whispers back.

“Nah. It really were just a nightmare. Bad one. Having someone else around helps.”

Another peal of thunder makes Alex jump, belying his words. Miles doesn't call him on it. “You live alone, yeah? What do you usually do when you have a nightmare?”

“I watch telly or call one of me friends but it's just, like, a matter of waiting for time to pass, you know? I can't usually sleep, after.”

Miles wants to say something comforting but everything that comes to mind is cheesy, fake. Instead he squeezes Alex's hand, trying to let him know it's alright that he stay here, that he should feel okay sleeping. That it's safe. He's not sure if he really manages to convey all that but Alex smiles at him in the dark and squeezes back.


	4. Chapter 4

Miles wakes with Alex in his arms.

It's disorienting. It takes Miles a moment to come back to himself, to remember the previous night. And then he's just sort of... Well, he doesn't know how he feels about it, honestly. Because on the one hand, that's Alex Turner lying next to him, their legs tangled under the sheets and his head resting on Miles' chest, and Miles gets the feeling he should at least be a bit put off. On the other hand... That's Alex Turner lying next to him, warm and looking oh-so-angelic in his sleep and he'd been so vulnerable last night.

It's been so long since Miles woke up with someone else in his bed. Not to say he hasn't had a bit of fun here and there, the occasional random hookup, but very rarely in his own flat, and even then they don't stay. He's not sure he'd want them to. But it is nice to wake up next to someone. It'd been nice yesterday, to wake up and hear Alex puttering about the kitchen. Having someone else in the flat is just comforting to Miles in a way that's hard to describe, having someone next to him even more so.

The question that Miles finds himself asking is, _am I allowed to enjoy this?_

He doesn't know. Alex probably wouldn't appreciate their current positions. Miles can picture him waking up, and the look of disgust that would cross his face- a look he's given Miles far too many times. Then again, perhaps that's a bit dramatic. Miles would rather not find out. He very gently disentangles himself from Alex, something that's difficult to do without waking him.

He pads lightly into the kitchen and sets about making tea, his mind already going over various things he might say to Alex once he wakes, trying to find a way to broach the topic of last night- or at least gracefully gloss over it- without making things hopelessly awkward. Unfortunately he hasn't come up with anything by the time Alex walks in a few moments later, yawning behind his hand, his hair a mess. It's unfair, really, that he's able to look so good in such a state. It's unfair that Miles is burdened with noticing.

“Did I wake you?” Miles asks, tearing his eyes away from the pale sliver of hip revealed when Alex stretches his hands over his head.

Alex barely stifles another yawn. He shrugs. “Dunno. Time to get up anyway, innit?”

“I suppose. Interviews today and that.”

Alex doesn't even bother hiding his displeased groan. “Fuck. I'll never understand how you celebrities put up with this shit on the daily.”

“I made tea, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Loads,” Alex says in a tone of voice that _could_ be sarcasm. Miles isn't sure. But Alex does round the counter to take the tea cup, and when he touches Miles lightly on the arm (reminiscent of the way he had when he'd complimented Miles on his performance) and says, “Thank you,” he sounds genuine. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones when he closes his eyes to take a sip. It's not something Miles ever noticed before. He feels like he shouldn't be noticing now.

They wind up at the kitchen table, Alex with the paper and Miles on his phone, and it occurs to Miles then that this is becoming something of a routine. A routine he rather enjoys. 

They never do talk about last night.

-

The interviews they have lined up are, thankfully, mostly for magazines and papers and such and are very little like their telly debut. Still, they go about as well as that one had. In one, for example, Alex rambles on for a full minute about a cat he saw up a tree once, then that somehow segues into a story about cookies. Miles watches the interviewer's face go from politely interested to confused to sort of peeved as her question (something to do with their first date) continues to go unanswered. He finally takes it upon himself to interrupt Alex by throwing an arm over his shoulders and steering the conversation back on track. He'd have been happy to let Alex babble for the entirety of the allotted twenty minutes but he knows Jones wouldn't stand for it.

In another, the bloke hosting the interview takes a rather unprofessional interest in Alex. At least, that's how Miles interprets the sugary compliments, the eyelash batting, the arm touching, the innuendo. He ignores Miles almost completely in favor of blatantly flirting with Alex, who remains oblivious, or least does a good job of pretending to be oblivious. Miles has never been one to let himself be ignored and, what's more, he won't stand for another bloke hitting on his boyfriend, fake or not. He places his hand high on Alex's thigh- a show of possession. Alex stops talking mid-sentence, evidently caught off-guard, but he picks up again a moment later. The interviewer doesn't really back off but it makes Miles feel better, anyhow.

It's already getting dark by the time they finally get back to the flat. Alex's phone rings just as they're crossing the threshold. He answers with a smile. “Matthew,” he says. “How's things?”

Miles half-listens to Alex's side of the conversation as he sets about rooting through his own cabinets for a snack. Alex's voice goes all stuttery as he replies to whatever Matt had said with, “Well, er... It's not exactly... like that. No, we'd have told you, it's just-” Alex looks sort of panicked when Miles glances back at him.

Miles walks over and snatches the phone from Alex's hand. He takes the liberty of putting it on speaker, intent on setting Matt straight about the nature of their relationship, but Matt is already mid-sentence, saying, “-Never mind that, I knew it. I bloody _knew it_. What did I tell you, Al?”

Miles keeps quiet, curiosity piqued. Alex has gone a funny shade of pink. He tries to snatch the phone back but fails miserably when Miles holds it just out of reach.

Matt goes on, “You always said you hated him but I knew what I was doing when I set you up that night, eh? Knew you'd get on like a house on fire. I mean, sure, it took a while, but-”

“But nothing!” Alex snaps, raising his voice to be heard. He's resorted to glaring at Miles now. “Listen, mate, we'll talk later, yeah?”

“Oh, did I interrupt something?” Matt laughs. Miles can practically _hear_ the ridiculous eyebrow waggle he's probably doing. “Sorry, sorry. Later, then.”

Matt clicks off. Miles sets the phone down on the counter. Alex immediately snatches it up. For a moment they just look at each other, Alex with narrowed eyes.

“So I take it the news finally reached him?” Miles asks.

Alex nods. “He weren't happy we kept it from him. Our, er... relationship.”

“You could've told him the truth, you know.”

“We're not supposed to tell _anyone_.”

Miles shrugs. Another pause, and then, “So, that first night. Two years ago. That was a setup?”

Alex hesitates. “Matt just thought, you know, we were both single... It was stupid of him. Right?”

Miles hums. “You knew, then? Matt never said anything to me. So, you went into that pub thinking...” Strange, to imagine that Alex might've had some very different expectations at the start of that evening. But Miles remembers that night all too well and Alex had done absolutely nothing to indicate he might even be a _little_ interested. He'd just been quiet, taciturn. Then, later, an outright prick.

“I weren't thinking anything,” Alex snaps, immediately getting defensive. “And it's a good thing my hopes weren't too high, eh? You were an arse to me from the start.”

“Hang on- _you_ were the one with his nose in the air the whole evening, too good to make bloody conversation with the rest of us. You ignored me for half the night and spent the rest insulting me. I only gave as good as I got.”

Alex scoffs. “Sounds like we remember that night a bit differently, mate.”

Miles opens his mouth, ready with a comeback, but another thought distracts him. He realizes, “Wait- that's why you weren't shocked at the meeting. About me, you know, liking blokes. I didn't even think anything of it at the time but... Matt told you.”

“He did.”

Miles has to lean against the counter as the full implication of that sinks in. “So you kept my secret for two years...”

“'Course,” Alex says, like the idea of outing Miles, of selling that story to the press, never even occurred to him.

“Why?”

Alex tilts his head. “You really think so little of me? I'd never do that, not even to you.”

The way he's got his brows furrowed makes him look like a disgruntled puppy. Miles has to stifle a fond smile. He's sort of disgusted with himself. Since when is he fond of Alex Turner? It's unnatural.

“Well... thanks. I dunno whether or not to be angry with Matt now.”

“Matt wouldn't have told me if I weren't trustworthy.”

“Actually I was talking about how he didn't tell me it were a setup. At least give a bloke a heads up, eh? Maybe it would've gone a bit different if we'd both been in the know.”

“Oh? How do you figure?”

“I'd have tried harder to get into your pants, for one.”

Alex makes an indignant sound. “Pardon?”

Miles considers him for a moment, from his artfully tousled quiff, to his full bottom lip, to his strategically unbuttoned top, to his blessedly tight trousers. He makes it blatant, a once-over that has Alex fidgeting. “Nah, never mind,” he says, mostly just to wind Alex up. “You're fit but not that fit.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “More fit than you,” he grumbles. He pushes past Miles, headed down the hall to his room. As an afterthought he adds over his shoulder, “You'd be lucky to have me.”

Miles tears his eyes away from Alex's arse and doesn't contradict him.

-

Miles' bed feels too big for one person.

It _is_ too big for one person but it's not something that ever bothered him before. Now, though, it feels all wrong. He's been tossing and turning for an hour, unable to get to sleep, alternating between wondering what Alex is doing down the hall and berating himself for wondering what Alex is doing down the hall. He tells himself it's not Alex that he misses, just a warm body beside him. It could be anyone. But a part of him knows that's not true.

Maybe it's a good thing he's unable to sleep. It means he's awake to hear the shout from Alex's room. He's on his feet in an instant, the image of Alex from last night- scared, trembling- still fresh in his memory. Unfortunately he's greeted with a very similar scene when he reaches Alex's room.

Alex is sitting up in bed, his knees drawn to his chest and his hands over his eyes. He doesn't seem to notice Miles is there until Miles sits lightly on the edge of the bed, drawing his attention. Alex blinks at him once and hides his face again. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, breathless. “I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry-”

Miles cuts him off. “It's fine,” he assures him, keeping his own voice low and steady. Soothing. He removes Alex's hands from his face, holds them in his own instead. Alex's hands are cold, clammy. He grips Miles' fingers like his life depends on it. “Alex, it's fine. What's the matter?”

“Fucking _nightmares_. Sorry, I really am, I can't help it-”

Miles shushes him. “Stop bloody apologizing. I'm not angry, alright? Promise.”

Alex's eyes are shining like he's on the verge of tears but Miles can _see_ him steeling himself, not daring to let one fall. He takes a deep breath. “I've not written anything readable in ages and this fucking deadline is killing me, I'm just...” He trails off, takes another shaky breath. “Stressed,” he finishes. “They always get bad when I'm stressed.”

Miles doesn't know what to say. He's never been good at comforting people, at being there for them, and he's certainly never had to comfort Alex. He's sort of amazed that Alex is showing this side of himself. Miles almost feels like this is a test. He doesn't want to fuck it up.

Miles stands and draws Alex up with him by his hand. “You said being with someone helps, yeah? Stay with me tonight.” He doesn't ask. He figures it's better that way. Alex can say no if he wants but Miles knows, or at least thinks he does, that Alex would be too prideful to say yes. To admit that he'd like to be comforted. This way he doesn't have to.

Miles pulls him down the hall and into his own room. Alex goes without complaint. He already seems calmer as he settles onto what Miles has already started thinking of as his side of the bed- pathetic, that, but he can't bring himself to care. Miles immediately pulls him closer, arms wrapped around him, Miles' chest to Alex's back. Alex relaxes in his arms, goes pliant as the tension leaves him. “Thanks,” he breathes. It's far from the disgusted reaction Miles imagined Alex would have to being held by him. 

It's surprisingly easy to fall asleep once Alex is next to him.

-

For the first time in his life, Miles wakes from a less-than-PG dream about Alex. It's an abrupt awakening. One moment Alex is straddling him, whispering naughty things in his ear, lovely arse grinding down on him, the next Miles is blinking at the real Alex, sleeping peacefully beside him.

He's quick to slip quietly out of bed. He gets himself off in the shower and doesn't even _try_ to pretend he's thinking of anyone but Alex. As he spills over his own hand he bites his lip and muses that they've certainly come a long way. From hating each other to cuddling to sex dreams. If you'd told Miles a month ago he'd be fantasizing about pinning Alex's wrists above his head and fucking him until he cried Miles' name, Miles would never have believed you. But here he is, doing just that, and it doesn't even seem all that strange. At any rate, he refuses to feel guilty about it. What Alex doesn't know won't hurt him.

Alex is still asleep when Miles finishes his shower. He's got one arm stretched over to Miles' side of the bed, like maybe he misses his warmth.

They have an outing scheduled but not until later. Miles decides, since Alex had such a rough night, to make them both tea again. He feels proper domestic doing it. That feeling isn't helped at all when Alex stumbles into the kitchen in t-shirt and boxers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and smiling blearily. Miles can't help but smile back, that damned fondness creeping up on him again.

“Careful,” Alex warns. “I might get used to this.”

“I don't mind,” Miles says honestly.

Alex sort of laughs to himself, shakes his head. He rounds the counter to take his tea. As he does, he goes up on his toes to give Miles a chaste peck on the lips. As casual as anything, like it's something they've done a thousand times before. “Thank you,” he says, in a tone of voice that makes Miles think he's being thanked for more than just tea.

Alex turns away, unbothered. Miles can only blink at him. He touches his lips, stunned. Alex just kissed him.

Miles won't be the one to turn it into something it's not. If Alex is going to be nonchalant about it then Miles will too. He tries to put it out of his mind.

He still catches himself thinking about it from time to time throughout the day, though. Like when they're on their so-called date- a literal walk through the park. They've got some of the least subtle paparazzi following them so they're hand-in-hand for the sake of the cameras. It's an unusually chilly day for the time of year. Alex's cheeks have gone pink- a shade that matches that of his bitten lips. Miles can't stop glancing over at him, wondering if he could get away with a kiss of his own.

“Do I have something on me face?” Alex asks when he catches Miles looking, brow raised.

Miles shakes his head. He pulls Alex to a stop by his hand. Alex looks so good today- more well rested than usual, eyes bright and happy. Devoid of any of their usual guardedness. He looks up at Miles curiously, patiently waiting to see what he'll do. Maybe Miles imagines it but he think he sees a bit of a challenge there.

Miles doesn't let himself think about it too hard. He tilts Alex's chin up with two of his fingers and closes the distance between them. He keeps it chaste but he lingers, both to give the paps time to get a decent shot and to savor the moment. He's kissing Alex bloody Turner. What's even better is that Alex doesn't pull away. He grips Miles' lapels to keep him close. It's a moment that should make for a perfect picture but Miles finds he's less concerned with that than he should be. He doesn't really want to pull away. Alex smells wonderful, like soap and springtime. Alex sighs into the kiss, a satisfied sort of sigh, like he's just been _waiting_ on Miles to kiss him and now that it's happened he can relax. That's probably just Miles' fanciful imagination talking, though.

When they separate Miles winks at him. Alex laughs but he's looking at Miles like he's trying to figure out the answer to an incredibly difficult riddle. 

“Jones is going to love that,” Miles says, effectively and purposefully breaking the moment. 

Alex glances uneasily back at the paparazzi, as if just being reminded that they're there. “Right,” he says. “Our first proper kiss, for all the world to see.”

Try as he might, Miles can't decipher his tone.


	5. Chapter 5

Miles stays up well into the morning in the vain hope that Alex might turn up at his door again. He feels pathetic, foolish, and confused. He's always been better than he should be at ignoring his own feelings but it's getting a bit difficult to cling to the notion that Alex is worth hating. Miles _really_ doesn't want to admit he was wrong, though. He can just picture Alex's smug smirk if he ever knew Miles was second guessing himself.

Miles eventually falls asleep, still very much alone in his room. Alex is there when he wakes, though, standing over him and waving a tabloid in his face. 

“The fuck?” he wonders, but it comes out as more of an unintelligible groggy noise.

“We made the front page,” Alex says, monotone. “Again.”

Miles checks the clock on his bedside table. “You had to wake me up at eight in the morning to show me?”

“Eight in the morning is when _normal people_ get up.” Alex grumbles under his breath, “Fucking rockstars.” As if he himself isn't one to sleep in.

Miles grudgingly sits up and takes the tabloid. They are indeed printed on the front cover. It's a picture from their time in the park yesterday. They're embracing, kissing, and it makes Miles uncomfortable for some reason. He's quick to look away. “Bloody hell, we're convincing.”

Alex nods grimly.

Miles squints at him. “What's the matter with you, Turner?” he asks, just noticing the circles under his eyes, so dark they could be bruises. The color stands out starkly against the rest of his face, which is paler than usual. Then there's the decided slump to his posture, like he can't be bothered holding himself entirely upright. Miles takes another glance at the clock and it clicks. “Did you even sleep last night?”

Alex's answer is a sharp, humorless laugh, which isn't promising. Then he says, seemingly out of nowhere, “My mum called. Earlier.”

“...And?”

Alex sinks down onto the edge of the bed with a weary sigh. “And... I dunno. She were asking about you. Made me feel like a twat for 'keeping you secret'.”

“You could've told her the truth, Alex. I wouldn't have tattled on you.”

“Nah, mate. I'd rather her think we were actually together than think I'd agreed to some stunt with someone I hate for publicity, you know?”

_Ouch_ , Miles thinks. _Someone I hate. Present tense._

“Plus, she were, er. Really excited, to put it mildly,” Alex continues. “Hated to take that away from her.”

“Excited? Why?”

“She either thinks I'm a slag, sleeping around wherever I get the chance, or she's worried I'll turn into a bitter old man- one of those ones what yells at kids to get off their lawn. She's been hounding me to get a so-called _proper boyfriend_ for ages.” He pauses, then adds, “Maybe she's hoping we'll adopt or summat.”

Miles has never done the whole meet-the-parents thing. He's never even gotten to the stage in a relationship where you tell your parents who you're seeing. Funny to think he's finally reached that stage with Alex, who he's not even really dating.

“She wanted me to come home for a bit. To Sheffield,” Alex confides. “Take a rest, get me head on straight. I think she really wanted to meet you.”

Hard to imagine, that. Or maybe not so hard as it should be. Miles can picture a quaint little meeting at the Turner's house. Walking in with Alex on his arm, getting introduced to his parents- who would love Miles, of course. Miles can be perfectly charming when he needs to be. There'd be stories traded over dinner. Embarrassing stories from Alex's childhood, mostly, all told at Miles' urging. Alex would get flustered and start blushing and put up a token protest but he'd squeeze Miles' hand under the table to let him know he didn't really mind. And at the end of the night he'd turn to Miles and say _I think they really liked you_ with one of those smiles on his face, the ones that crinkle up the corners of his eyes.

Miles swallows around the lump in his throat. “We leave for New York in two days,” he gently reminds Alex. It's a promo trip, something that's been in the works since before Jones cooked up this deal with Alex. Now that the press has taken such a shine to Miles and Alex's relationship Jones is demanding that Alex tag along, even if it's mostly just to be papped at Miles' side.

“I know, 's what I told her. I'm not fixing to run out on you, don't worry.”

“Well... good. New York'd be boring without you there to harass.”

Alex tilts a brow at him. “Oh, planning to harass me are you? And here I brought you breakfast. See if I share now.”

“You went out? You've gotta be careful, Turner. There's paps outside every hour now. They see you leaving on your own in the wee hours of the morning...”

Alex rolls his eyes. “It's hardly the 'wee hours', Kane, don't be dramatic. Besides, I snuck round the back. They never saw me. Now put some clothes on and come eat your damn breakfast before I change me mind.”

Miles doesn't bother putting clothes on and instead eats breakfast in just his pants. He doesn't say thank you, either. It's the principal of the thing.

-

The next two days seem to pass quickly. Alex spends most of his time holed up in his room, naturally, but he resurfaces for a span of about two hours one night to drink beer and watch as Miles dicks around on the guitar. Miles learns, via an impromptu singalong, that Alex's voice isn't half bad. He's already got a big enough ego, though, so Miles keeps his opinion to himself.

The circles under Alex's eyes don't get any better but he doesn't say anything about it or even hint that he's having trouble. He's definitely grumpy on the day of departure. He doesn't say a whole lot and when he does open his mouth it's to complain. Thankfully, he falls asleep about twenty minutes into the plane ride with his head on Miles' shoulder and by the time they land he's looking a little more chipper. Less like he's going to bite Miles' head off for breathing wrong. Which is good, since they'll be sharing a hotel room.

There's a small crowd of paparazzi waiting for them outside the airport. A larger crowd than normally follows them around. Alex keeps his shades on and sort of clings to Miles, his arm looped through Miles' and his other hand holding onto Miles' sleeve. Miles is the one to put on a happy face, even as the paparazzi call them a few choice names to try and get a reaction. He's used to it, he's heard every insult in the book, but evidently it bothers Alex, who clings harder and ducks his head.

He sighs, relieved, once they finally make it to the taxi. “Don't get that often, as a writer,” Alex explains when he catches Miles' looking at him. “Sorry.”

“Don't apologize. I should've given you some heads up,” Miles admits. “I forget you're not accustomed to, er...”

“Angry strangers calling me a faggot? Sadly I'm not as unaccustomed as I'd like to be.”

“Even you, eh?”

Alex shrugs. He fixes his gaze on something outside the window. Maybe he's remembering. “Yeah. Even me.”

Miles is surprised to find that the idea of someone hurling insults like that at Alex and meaning them makes his blood boil. He sort of wishes he'd been around when Alex came out. He's sure Alex had his support system, people to be there for him through it all, but Miles finds he's wishing he were one of them. Maybe he could've sheltered Alex from some of the backlash. Backlash that shouldn't even exist in the first place.

“I guess I've had it easy,” Miles admits. “Thanks to you.”

Alex shrugs like he's uncomfortable with the gratitude being thrown his way. “I hope it's helped,” he mumbles.

“It has,” Miles assures him. “I think... it'd be different if I was alone. So, er. Thanks.”

Alex shrugs again. Miles drops it after that. He's said thanks, his duty is fulfilled.

-

Their shared hotel room contains a single king size bed and little else. Neither of them makes a fuss over it. Miles was half expecting it, honestly. Jones is nothing if not thorough. Booking a single room just makes their charade all the more convincing.

Alex doesn't even comment on it. He sets his bags on the floor and immediately pulls out his laptop, presumably to start writing. Miles takes that as a sign that there's not going to be much conversation. He winds up eating alone in the hotel dining room. It's... lonely. He never thought he'd wind up craving Alex's company. Maybe prolonged exposure is to blame.

Alex is still tapping feverishly at the keys of his laptop, hunched over it where it sits on the table in the corner, by the time Miles is climbing into bed. Miles falls asleep with the image of Alex's profile cast in the glowing white light of his laptop burned into the back of his eyelids.

Not that he stays asleep long. Alex is still at it when Miles next opens his eyes. The clock on the bedside table kindly informs him in soft blue numbers that it's nearing four in the morning.

“Alex,” Miles calls softly, his voice little more than a whisper. “Alex, you've got to rest, love. Come to bed.”

Alex's fingers still. He bites his lip. Miles knows he's been heard but Alex does nothing to acknowledge him.

“Come on, then,” Miles urges, getting slowly to his feet. “We'll go for a smoke. You've at least got to give your eyes a break.”

Alex hesitates still. Miles reaches blindly toward the nightstand and fumbles around until his fingers find his pack of cigarettes. He trails out to the balcony- if it could be called that- without waiting to see if Alex will follow. He knows he will, and of course he's proven right when not even a full minute later Alex sidles up next to him and wordlessly holds out a hand. Miles passes him a cigarette, then the lighter. There's barely room enough for both of them to stand together on the so-called balcony but the view is, admittedly, pretty great. New York has always been one of Miles' favorite cities to visit.

The tip of the cigarette glows orange as Alex draws in a lungful of smoke. On the exhale he says, “You know, I think I had you all wrong.”

“How's that?” Miles wonders. He takes a drag of his own cigarette. He can feel Alex watching him.

“I thought you were a twat.” He pauses, corrects himself. “No, you _were_ a twat. But I thought that was all you could be. You've been proving me wrong here lately, mate, and I'm wondering- why?”

“Why... what?”

Alex didn't bother styling his hair this morning. It was a mess already, it just gets worse when he runs his hands through it. Miles loves seeing him this way. Messy hair, comfortable clothes. In a word, unkempt. It's like he's a different person from the one Miles met in a pub two years ago. “Why've you been so, like- _nice_? Ever since I, er... moved in, you've been... different.”

The early hours have always made an honest man out of Miles. For whatever reason he finds it's easier to tell the complete truth under the cover of night, under the stars or the streetlamps, when tiredness is weighing down his limbs and everything feels like a dream. “I guess I fucked up. That first night, I mean. I think I had you all wrong, too.”

Alex half-smiles, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “What're you saying, Kane? You don't hate me anymore?”

Miles props himself up on the cold iron railing. He stares out at the hundreds of cars clogging up the streets below. “I never really hated you, I don't think.” He can't look at Alex as he says it, doesn't want to see his undoubtedly smug expression. “I just hated what I thought you were.”

“Which was?”

“A prick.”

That makes Alex laugh, a soft chuckle. Miles does look at him then. Some of the smugness he expected is there but a different expression is overwhelming it. Miles couldn't put a name to the expression if he was asked but Alex is smiling. That seems important. “Do you remember the second time we met, Miles?”

Miles recalls it vaguely, through the haze of time and alcohol. “Little bit.”

“We were at a party- do you remember? We were at a party and you were making the eyes at this bloke...”

Miles remembers the bloke. He'd been fit. Miles definitely recalls entertaining the notion of taking him home. But it'd been too risky. Too many people around who might notice him sneaking off with another man. He hadn't been aware, at the time, that Alex had noticed his interest. In fact, Miles is pretty sure he remembers doing a damn good job of masking it.

Apparently not, if Alex was aware of it. “Well, I saw you doing it, giving him an eye fuck, and I were still bitter about the last time we'd met-”

“So you took him home,” Miles finishes, that part coming back to him as well. He'd seen Alex leaving with the guy, Alex's hand splayed across the bloke's lower back, their intentions clear for all to see, and he'd been furious. Angry and hurt. It certainly hadn't endeared Alex to him.

“Yeah,” Alex admits, getting sheepish. “Just to spite you, cause I knew you couldn't. Isn't that awful? Why the fuck would I do that?”

After all this time the revelation hardly stings. “I dunno. You tell me.”

Alex actually gives it some thought. He hums under his breath, exhales smoke through his nose. “I think I were jealous. He caught your eye...” Alex shakes his head at himself. “Funny, innit?”

Miles doesn't know what to say. Alex is close, standing barely a breath away. Miles is hyper-aware of the heat he gives off. 

Alex looks up at him through long, dark lashes. He smirks. “I'll never admit I said this but- you're not so bad, Miles. You're really not.”

Miles' eyes drop to Alex's lips. It'd be so easy to kiss him right now. Miles has wanted to kiss him again since that day in the park. But there's no excuse to give, this time. No paparazzi to blame it on.

Alex turns away before Miles gives in to the whim. He drops his cigarette to the concrete.

“Come to bed,” Miles says again. He stubs out his own cigarette on the railing. “You'll want to be wide awake for tomorrow.”

Alex sighs. “I suppose you're right.”

They settle on opposite sides of the bed, no part of them touching. Not until Alex reaches out to twine their fingers together.

-


	6. Chapter 6

“He's wonderful, of course. I've never felt this way about anyone. He's... he's my soulmate.”

The audience _aw_ 's and breaks into applause. The interviewer looks like she's going to melt. If Alex were on camera and not standing just offset they'd probably have caught him rolling his eyes. Miles is too busy trying to look earnest to glance over at him and check. “How sweet, Miles! I think there were some of us who thought you might never settle down.”

“It weren't, er, planned. But when you meet the right person...” He trails off, shrugs. “Alex brings out the best in me.”

More cooing from the audience. The interviewer's smile keeps getting wider. “Lovely,” she chirps. “Is there anything you can tell us about the reclusive writer that we don't already know? He's a difficult man to get an interview with.”

Miles does look at Alex then. He's leaning against the wall, watching, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded over his chest, bemused smile on his face. When he catches Miles looking at him he raises a single brow, as if in challenge. As if to say, _you've got nothing on me_. But Miles would beg to differ.

“He'd kill me for telling you,” Miles says, still watching Alex over the interviewer's shoulder. “But that Al, he's a cuddler, he is. And a big softie, too. The other day he teared up at that ad on telly with all the sad pets. You know the one.”

Alex shakes his head but he can't deny it's the truth. The interviewer giggles, delighted. “I think we all suspected he was soft and sweet under that cool exterior,” she says. “Anyone who writes the way he does would have to be, wouldn't they? But it's nice to hear proof.”

Miles makes a vague noise of agreement. He supposes he'll have to read that bloody book sooner or later, just so he's not caught looking like a poor boyfriend.

The interview wraps up with yet another plug for Miles' new album. As Miles walks offset Alex takes his hand and whispers, “Gonna get you back for that.”

Miles smirks. His security, a bloke whose name Miles can't remember for the life of him, starts herding them both toward the exit and out to the car. “I went easy on you, love. I've got pictures on me phone they'd get a real kick out of. Pictures from last Halloween, for example.”

“Oi,” Alex says, offended. “That were a good fucking costume and I'll not hear otherwise.”

“Didn't win best costume though, did you?”

“Neither did you,” Alex grumbles. “Also, you were laying it on a bit thick out there. Soulmates, Kane? Really? You're the one who said it was meant to be believable.”

“Just giving the people what they want.”

Alex opens his mouth to argue but winds up conceding the point with a hand wave. There are a few paparazzi snapping photos as they slide into the backseat of the car. Miles flashes them a peace sign and a winning smile. Alex is quick to duck out of sight.

“What's next?” Alex asks once Miles has climbed in and shut the door. “We've got that party thing tonight, right?”

“Yeah. Just an excuse for a bunch of famous people to be seen together, really. I dunno if there's a single person I actually like on the guest list. So, you know. Should be a good time.”

Alex already looks fidgety. “Remind me again why I've got to go?”

Miles kicks lightly at Alex's foot. “You _know_ why. It'd be pretty fucking weird if I turned up without you.”

Alex pulls a face.

Miles kicks at him again. “Look, it's not a big deal, really. 's not like you'll be giving interviews and whatnot. Just try to enjoy yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Alex complains. 

“I'll be there,” Miles says. He's not sure what possesses him to say it. _Obviously_ he'll be there, that was definitely never in question. And what's more, his being there would've been a negative thing a week ago. Maybe it still is. It's the first thing that comes to mind, however. “Er, I mean- I'll stick with you, you know. If you want.”

Alex looks like he's on the verge of laughing but he doesn't make fun. “Thanks,” is all he says. He half sounds like he means it.

Something is definitely different between them now, since last night on the balcony. Miles woke up this morning thinking that perhaps it had all been a dream. The memories had that hazy quality about them. But no- Alex woke up yawning and stretching and when he spotted Miles beside him he broke into an honest, unbothered smile. The air has been cleared, at least somewhat. It's... a relief, in a way. It's freeing. Miles no longer feels like he has to try quite so hard to maintain the mask around Alex.

And it would seem the feeling is mutual. Alex is more relaxed around him. Miles hadn't realized he was tense before, on edge, but the by the way he behaves now it's clear that he was. Miles knows he's partly to blame. He never exactly gave Alex a reason to feel comfortable around him. He feels like he's slowly fixing that, though. Building a trust of sorts between them, which isn't even something he realized he wanted until it was already happening, and it's certainly not something he's been doing consciously.

It's still hard for him to come to terms with the fact that he might've misjudged Alex so badly, and for so long. There was a time when he looked Alex and saw nothing but his ego. An ego, it turns out, that hardly exists at all. Now Miles looks at him and instead of arrogance he sees a self-defense mechanism. Instead of narcissism he sees insecurity. And instead of seeing someone who should be torn down, Miles sees someone worth protecting. Or so he imagines. 

“You're staring,” Alex points out, breaking abruptly into Miles' thoughts. He touches the corner of his own mouth. “Have I got summat on me face?”

Miles blinks. “No,” he says. He looks awkwardly away, clears his throat. “Sorry, just- thinking.”

“Oh. What about?” Alex hesitates, then adds, “You looked troubled.”

“Did I?” Miles smiles crookedly. “Don't worry your little head, Turner. 's nothing.”

Alex shrugs. He's kind enough not to push. Or perhaps he simply doesn't care all that much. Difficult to say for sure. Miles may be coming around to the idea that Alex isn't a complete prick but he's still hard to read.

-

The party is taking place in a club downtown owned by a music producer Miles has never heard of and never intends to work with- but Jones insists it's a good opportunity to make 'connections' and Miles has never minded attending a party. Especially a party at a nice club with good booze and plenty of pretty people. Granted, Miles can't do anything more than look tonight. He's not sure he'd even want to. They've barely arrived and Miles has already deduced that Alex is the most attractive person in the room, scantily clad women and perfectly coiffed men be damned.

Actually, the feeling is reminiscent of the first night they met. When Miles first laid eyes on him, Alex took his breath away. Suddenly the pretty bloke at the bar seemed a lot less pretty. Miles knows that while Alex is obviously attractive he's not, objectively speaking, most people's idea of stunning. But something about him caught Miles' attention that night, and now he's caught it again. Miles still couldn't say why.

Alex looks around the crowded club. It's a very industrial, bare-bones sort of place but it's packed with people in fancy dress. The lights sway and strobe in time with the music to almost dizzying effect. He takes all this in and slowly exhales.

“You alright?” Miles wonders, leaning close to be heard over the thumping base blaring through the speakers.

Alex nods. His smile is somewhat forced but he doesn't seem on the verge of a breakdown. “Yeah, mate. How about a drink?”

“How about several?” Miles fires back.

They wind up spending most of their evening at the bar. Miles promised Jones he'd be a social creature and network with some of these people but he promised Alex he'd stick with him and that seems somehow more important.

Besides, Alex is probably a better conversation partner. That's not something Miles ever thought he'd say about Alex but the drunker Alex gets the more he talks and the funnier he is. It probably helps that Miles is getting drunk right along with him.

They're just starting on their fifth drink when someone sidles up to the bar next to Alex and taps him on the shoulder. It's a bloke- thin, blonde, with a pretty face. Something about him immediately puts Miles on edge. Could be the cocky grin as he greets Alex with an overly familiar, “Al, love, how've you been? I've missed you.”

Alex, for his part, looks stricken. He blinks at the stranger like he can hardly believe he's real. “...Oliver?” he asks, voice wavering, just as the silence was starting to get awkward.

“In the flesh,” Oliver replies with a flourish.

“What are you doing here?” Alex wonders, perhaps too stunned to be polite.

“Here on business,” Oliver says in a tone of voice that suggests Alex is too unimportant to be privy to the details. He waves a hand dismissively. “Boring stuff. Better question is, what are _you_ doing here? You never were fond of New York City, if I recall.”

Miles doesn't know who this guy is but he's clearly making Alex uncomfortable and that's enough of a reason for to Miles to dislike him. Alex fidgets. “Er... I'm here-”

“With me,” Miles cuts in. He places a steadying and possessive hand on Alex's shoulder. Oliver deigns to look at him for the first time since he approached. As he does, his smirk turns into a sneer. “Alex was kind enough to tag along and keep me company,” Miles adds. “Weren't you, love?”

“...Yeah,” Alex agrees after a moment. “Miles and I-”

“Oh, you don't have to tell me,” Oliver interrupts. “I've seen the headlines, heard the reports. Everyone is just fascinated by the two of you.” He leans in closer to Alex, once again ignoring Miles. “You look really good, Al. You've still got my number, don't you? Give me a call when you get bored.”

They both watch him walk away. He crosses the room and disappears into the crowd. “Fuck,” Alex swears vehemently under his breath.

“He was nice,” Miles deadpans.

Alex stares morosely down at his drink. “He's a wanker. Fuck him.” He glances back over his shoulder at where Oliver had gone and shudders, like just being in the same room with him is discomforting.

They've clearly got a past. “Wanna talk about it?” Miles asks.

Alex shakes his head mutely in response.

Miles leaves it be. He's curious, of course, but better to let it lie for now probably. He tries a different question. “Wanna get out of here?”

Alex tilts a brow at him. “Pardon?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “I'm not propositioning you, Christ. I'm not that drunk. 'm just sick of this place.”

“Er, are you sure?” Alex asks. He sounds skeptical but there's a hint of hope in his tone.

Miles really should stay. He should talk to some people, make a proper appearance. But, “Yeah. We can't leave out the front, though. Paparazzi'd be all over us for skipping out early.”

“So we sneak out the back,” Alex declares.

Miles looks out at the expansive, unavoidable crowd. He sighs. “They're all going to think we've snuck out for a shag, I hope you know.”

Alex shrugs like he doesn't care. He tosses back the last of his drink, takes Miles by the wrist, and leads the way to the exit. He casts a few wary glances in Oliver's direction and when they're finally outside, standing in an alley between the club and a closed shop, he lets out a relieved breath. Miles doesn't mention it. He wordlessly offers a cigarette, which Alex takes with a grateful nod of his head.

They walk most of the way back to the hotel. They don't talk much. Alex seems lost in thought. But he livens up some once they've arrived. Miles expects him to go straight back to writing but he doesn't. Instead, he grabs them both another drink, settles next to Miles on the loveseat to watch telly, and they both take the piss out of a low-budget Lifetime film for an hour. Maybe it's some combination of drink and sleepiness but after a while of Miles cracking dumb jokes just to make him laugh he gets giggly and laid back, his run-in with Oliver evidently forgotten.

He's delightful like this, Alex is. Miles likes to think this isn't a side of him everyone gets to see.

“Alex,” he says, out of the blue. He's maybe a little drunk. “Al...”

Alex looks over at him, smiling, eyes bright and trusting, like there isn't two years of antagonism lying between them. “Yes, Miles?” His voice is sinful. The way he says Miles' name especially. Miles could fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He'd probably have sweet dreams.

Miles kisses him with no preamble. He leaves him no time to prepare- or to protest. Alex makes a noise of surprise but he settles into it quick enough, kissing back, his hands coming up to cup Miles' face. His lips are soft, perfect, and when he smiles into the kiss Miles can't help but smile as well. It stays chaste, as if by some mutual unspoken agreement, but Miles would be lying if he said he didn't want to take it further. To open Alex up, to really taste him, to have him moaning.

Miles is the one to break the kiss, much as he'd rather not. “That should do it,” he says, halfway out of breath.

Alex looks dazed. His eyes flick from Miles' lips to his eyes and back again. “What?”

Miles smirks. He holds up his phone. “I'd say that's Instagram worthy, wouldn't you?”

Alex blinks at Miles, then at the picture displayed on his phone. “Oh. Right,” he says dumbly. “Instagram. Sure.”

Miles lowers the phone. He's still smirking. “You _wanted_ to kiss me,” he declares.

A blush starts a the tips of Alex's ears and spreads to his cheeks. “What? No, it was- you were taking a picture.”

“But _you_ didn't know that.”

Alex scoffs. “Don't be daft. It were- heat of the moment, like.”

“So if I did it again...” Miles says carefully.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Stop taking the piss,” he mutters. He goes to get up, to put distance between them, but Miles takes hold of his wrist, stilling him. He holds it loosely. Alex could break his grip if he wanted.

“Don't run away, love. You don't have to go anywhere.”

Alex sits back down. He eyes Miles, wary. That hadn't been Miles intention, to make him suspicious.

“Never gonna live that down, am I?” Alex wonders, opting to keep things light.

Miles releases his wrist. He pastes a smile back on. “Never,” he agrees.

When Miles posts the photo to Instagram he captions it simply _yours_. It's not true. Miles maybe wants it to be.

-

They've having breakfast the next morning when Alex brings it up.

He's been looking distant, dreamy, so Miles asks, “What's the matter, Turner? Hungover, are you?”

Alex looks up like he's startled to be addressed. “Er, no,” he says, voice still with that morning quality. They've only just woken up. Miles didn't even bother to put on real trousers to go down to the hotel cafe for breakfast. “Nah, I'm just thinking.”

“About what? Care to share?”

Miles expects him to say something about his book or some other inane, seemingly random thing, as he's usually wont to do. Instead he says, eyes fixed firmly on his plate, “Last night.”

“...Oliver?” Miles asks hopefully.

Alex looks tempted to roll his eyes at the very mention of the name. “No, Miles, don't play dumb.”

“Ah. You mean the, er... other thing.”

“Yeah. Specifically the bit where you asked about doing it again.”

Miles gestures vaguely with his fork. “Like you said it were, er, heat of the moment and that. And it were just a bloody kiss, it doesn't call for looking so glum, mate.”

“So you _don't_ want to do it again?”

Miles wants to. He very much wants to. He wants to be able to kiss Alex whenever he pleases. And more, too, but breakfast in a room full of other diners isn't the best place to be entertaining naughty fantasies. It's so easy to imagine, though. The two of them together.

He can't actually bring himself to say no outright. Instead, he shrugs, gives another vague gesture and leaves the meaning for Alex to interpret. Evidently he interprets it as a negative because he says, “Good, then. It'd just complicate things, wouldn't it? Best if we keep it professional.”

The worst part is he doesn't even sound bothered. He comes across as perfectly nonchalant. That stings. Surely Miles' attraction isn't one-sided? He'd thought he and Alex were on the same page.

Miles opens his mouth, on the verge of contradicting him, but what comes out instead is, “Right. Professional.” Because he _is_ right, unfortunately. It would complicate things. And what's more, Miles isn't sure he wants to hear Alex's rejection spelled out any clearer.

“Glad you agree,” Alex says. He's still not making eye contact.

They eat the rest of their breakfast in silence. For the first time in a while, it's awkward.


	7. Chapter 7

Alex never comes to bed. He's at his laptop typing when Miles dozes off, and he's asleep at his makeshift desk when Miles wakes up, blanket draped over his shoulders and head resting uncomfortably on the tabletop, laptop still open beside him. It probably wasn't intentional. Or so Miles tells himself. Sure things have been... weird... since Miles kissed him but would he really go so far as to avoid sleeping in the same bed?

Miles is still blinking sleepily at Alex's huddled form, trying to decide whether or not he should wake him, when his mobile rings. He reaches out blindly toward the bedside table until his hand connects with it. He's stifling a yawn as he answers, “'lo?”

There's a pause, then, “Alex?”

“What?” Miles says. He pulls the phone away from his ear and- it's not his phone. It's Alex's phone. The caller ID says 'mum'. Miles sits up, abruptly nervous. “Oh, er- hi, sorry, Mrs. Turner,” he stammers. “Al is still asleep-”

Alex's mum cuts him off with a gasp. “You must be Miles!” she realizes, sounding entirely too excited about it.

“Er, yes...” Miles admits. He glances at Alex, half-hoping he'll wake up and rescue him, half-hoping he won't so Miles can avoid the embarrassment.

“Alex has told me so much about you,” she informs him sweetly. “You know, I've seen you both all over the papers, on the telly- My Alex looks so _happy_. I hope you're treating him right?”

“Trying,” Miles says, sheepish.

She laughs, a charming little chuckle, a delighted sound. “I've so wanted to meet you, Miles. I always knew there was something... I mean, the way Alex went on about you, as if he hated you, I can't say I saw this coming. But it were like pulling pigtails on the playground, I suppose.”

“...Something like that,” Miles agrees, at a loss for what else to say. He's sort of wishing he had some experience to fall back on here but all those years of one night stands and avoiding lasting relationships has left him grasping at straws when it comes to talking to the mum of his boyfriend. Supposed boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Whatever.

“Well, the two of you simply must find some time to come visit us here in Sheffield. Soon. Alright, Miles?”

Miles recalls the lovely little daydream he'd had about meeting Alex's folks. That daydream seems more unlikely to occur than ever. He has to swallow past the lump in his throat as he falsely assures her, “Of course, Mrs. Turner. I'd love to.”

“Tell Alex I called, would you?”

“Sure.”

“Pleasure talking to you, Miles.”

“You as well,” Miles says, just as she hangs up.

Miles stares down at the phone in his hand as the call disconnects. What a strange way to start the day.

“I hope she didn't say anything too embarrassing,” Alex mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. He sits up slowly, stretching his arms over his head with a pained grimace. 

“Didn't realize you were awake.”

“'m not,” Alex says. He clutches at the blanket round his shoulders to keep it in place, crosses the room, and sort of falls into bed. Head on his pillow, he closes his eyes. “Why'd you let me do that?” he wonders, voice low.

“Hm?”

“Fall asleep over there.”

“I thought... maybe you wanted to be over there.”

Alex doesn't answer. Miles thinks perhaps he's fallen asleep again. He goes to get up- only to be stopped by Alex clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt. Alex blinks up at him. “Stay here,” he sleepily demands. “It's too early.”

Miles doesn't bother arguing. He doesn't want to argue. Alex wants him to stay, so he stays.

-

It turns out that 'keeping it professional' is bloody difficult now that Miles has realized Alex isn't a total prick. He's less conflicted and that means everything he found attractive about Alex before but pushed aside in the name of hating him has resurfaced with a vengeance. Miles catches himself staring more than once- at Alex's eyes, at his lips, at his hands, at his arse. At whatever is readily available to be drooled over, really. He still feels bad about it, of course, but for different reasons. Now, instead of feeling guilty for compromising his principles, being hopelessly attracted to Alex makes him feel guilty because Alex has placed himself firmly off limits.

It's the worst at night, of course. Sharing a bed with Alex makes things difficult, not least of all because Alex really is a cuddler. He usually starts the night off on his side of the bed, arms and legs kept to himself, but Miles will wake up hours later and have Alex draped over him or curled into him or clutching him close. Like in his sleep he sought Miles out, craved closeness, and that just leads Miles to wondering why he'd been so blatantly shut down. Alex clearly isn't repulsed by him.

Still, he plays by the rules. During the rest of their four days in New York the awkwardness dissipates somewhat. They're getting along fine. Their dynamic seems to have settled into playful teasing, rather than the mean jibes they'd have throw each other before, and real arguments are at a minimum.

Then Alex fucks it up.

They fly back to London on a Thursday. Friday morning Miles wakes before Alex- or so he assumes, as Alex's door is still shut and there's no sign he's been rooting about in the kitchen yet. Sleeping without him had been weird. Easier, in a way. Less tempting. But still unpleasant. Miles is maybe a bit of a cuddler himself, it turns out, and he misses the contact. But without a proper excuse he hadn't dared invite Alex to share with him again.

Miles is making tea when the text from Jones comes in. It reads simply, _Twitter_.

Nerves beginning to stir, Miles opens twitter on his mobile. He checks the trends first but they give little away. The only thing of note is that _#milex_ is trending again. The very first tweet Miles sees when he clicks it is mostly keysmashing and a series of angry emojis but the second is a little more enlightening.

_Why would Alex do this to poor Miles_ , it says.

Nerves turned into full on butterflies now, Miles keeps scrolling until he finds a link. He clicks it with some trepidation. As he reads the article, as he looks at the attached pictures, he starts to feel sick.

He's still staring blankly at a grainy picture of Alex and Oliver embracing when Alex wanders into the kitchen and utters a sleepy, “Good morning.”

Miles is shaking. “Alex,” he says. That's all he says. It's enough to tip Alex off that something is the matter.

“What's wrong?” he asks, immediately tense. When Miles doesn't answer right away he rounds the counter to place a comforting hand on his arm. “Miles?”

“ _Please_ tell me this isn't recent.”

Brow furrowed, he glances at the phone, then drops his hand from Miles' arm. He takes two steps back, unconsciously putting distance between them. “Er, it's- it weren't-” He cuts off his own stammering to take a deep breath. “It's not what it looks like, Miles, I swear it.”

“When?”

“Oliver and me, we aren't-”

“Just answer the fucking question, Turner. _When_ was this taken?”

Alex folds his arms over his chest- a defensive posture. He hesitates, then quietly admits, “Wednesday.”

“Fuck,” Miles breathes. It was probably too much to hope for, that these pictures might be old. He still feels unspeakably disappointed anyway. “Wednesday? When on Wednesday? When I was doing that photoshoot?”

Alex's sheepishly lowered gaze is enough confirmation.

“You said you'd be staying in,” Miles snaps. “What the bloody hell possessed you? You _knew_ the paps would be on you like flies. You had to know-” Miles interrupts himself with a sharp, humorless laugh. “Is that it, Turner? You did it on purpose? Still trying to ruin me?”

Miles regrets the implication almost as soon as it's left his mouth but his anger overrides his desire to take it back. He's mad, and hurt, and a part of him wants Alex to hurt, too. Evidently it works. Alex looks like Miles may as well have slapped him. “ _What_? Don't do that, Miles, you know I wouldn't.”

“Do I?” Miles glances at his phone again. He has to fight down the urge to throw it against the wall. “How could you _embarrass_ me like this? Now the whole bloody world thinks you've cheated on me and I've been saying all that _shit_ about you on telly. I look like a fucking idiot-”

“ _That's_ what you're so concerned about?”

Miles ignores him. “I was trusting you, Turner. My first mistake, I guess. Should've known you'd screw me over first chance you got.”

Alex has gone stiff as a board. His glare is, frankly, impressive. It looks like he has to swallow a thousand angry retorts before he manages a somewhat calm response. “Would you just _look_ at the fucking photos? We're not even up to anything. It weren't a fucking date.”

“Then what was it? Because it sure as hell looks like a date.”

Again, Miles can practically see Alex steeling himself, swallowing his own anger. “Oliver is my ex. He's _the_ ex. When he rang me up I thought... Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Whatever it was, I were wrong. He's not changed and he never will.” Alex inches forward. He takes the phone from Miles' hand to see the picture for himself. He only glances, though, and then, with a disgusted look, sets the phone aside. “What he put me through... I'd never go back to him. But when he called I couldn't just ignore it. I felt like I had to see him. To get some closure.” Alex rolls his eyes at himself. “You're right about one thing. It were a daft thing to do, and I'm sorry.”

In the face of his refusal to get angry and his apology, Miles' own anger is hard to sustain. He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Alright, it weren't a date- but it still looks like one. You two are awfully chummy.”

“He grabbed me as I were leaving. I pushed him off straight away- but of course they don't show that part, do they?”

“Of course not. Which means I've still got to convince the press we're as loving a couple as they think we are.”

Alex bites his lip. He looks up at Miles from under his lashes, hesitant. “You don't really think I'd do something like that to you on purpose, do you?”

Miles considers it, eyes flicking over Alex's face, taking in his earnest, worried expression. If Alex had asked him a couple months ago he'd have said yes in a heartbeat. But now... “No,” he admits. He leans heavily against the counter with a sigh. “No, Alex, I know you wouldn't. I shouldn't have said that.”

“I won't be seeing him again,” Alex gently assures him. “Or anyone. Not while we're...”

Neither of them rushes to finish the sentence. Miles wouldn't know how to. An uneasy silence falls over them. Alex's gaze drops to his own feet. He winds up breaking the silence with, “I, er. Came out for him. For Oliver. He told me if I didn't he'd break things off. Then I found out he were cheating on me the entire time.” His laugh is bitter. “I fancied myself in love with him, you know? Stupid.”

As if Miles needed even more reason to dislike Oliver. Now he's wishing he'd punched him in the nose when he had the chance. “Why're you telling me this?”

Alex shrugs. He's gone pink in the cheeks and he won't quite meet Miles' eye. “No one else knows. That he cheated on me, I mean. I just thought... I owed you that. As a sign of, like. Trust or summat. And, er. I thought it might, like, explain things a little. See, we only broke up about a month before you and me met and I think I may have been a bit... Well, I may have taken it out on you a little that night. I didn't even want to go but Matt pressured me into it but as soon as I laid eyes on you I were thinking- oh, another pretty face, he's probably just gonna fuck me over again-”

There are definitely other, more important things in Alex's rambling to make note of but Miles has to ask, “ _Pretty_?”

Alex's cheeks go a shade darker. “Oh, shut up, you know what I meant.”

Miles clicks his tongue. “First the kiss and now you've gone and called me pretty. Careful, Turner, or I might start thinking you like me.”

Alex rolls his eyes but he almost looks relieved at the teasing. Maybe because it's familiar, maybe because it's a sign that Miles isn't angry with him anymore. “You really aren't going to let me live that down, are you?”

That's Miles' cue to respond with something witty and lighthearted but instead his mouth moves without his permission and what comes out is, “I haven't stopped thinking about it.”

They both freeze after he's said it. Miles' brain immediately starts trying to come up with ways to spin it into a joke or take it back or make it seem like he was talking about anything but that kiss- but the look on Alex's face gives him pause. It's part surprised, part hopeful, part wondering.

Alex says, quietly, “Me, either.”

It's not much to go on, that, but it's... something. It's a far cry from Alex's cold insistence that they keep things professional.

“Well,” Miles says after a moment. “I can see why. I'm bloody fantastic.”

Alex rolls his eyes but there's a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Christ, remind me never to compliment you lest your ego inflate so much it carries you away.”

Miles has probably never wanted to kiss someone so much in his life. Funny, that. Alex has just insulted him- and they were just arguing- but all Miles wants to do is wrap him up in his arms and kiss him breathless. Maybe it's the smile that does it. Alex's smile is ridiculously endearing and, right now, it looks almost fond. Terrible to think that, had they not gone through with this little PR scam, Miles might never have had that smile directed at him.

He fights the urge to draw Alex closer and snog him to within an inch of his life. Instead, he gestures outside. “Forget the tea. How about a smoke instead?”

Alex acquiesces with a grin. Weirdly enough things seem less strained between them after their argument. They talk freely and laugh openly. It's... nice. It's something Miles is afraid he could get used to.

Jones calls about ten times. Miles ignores him. He'll deal with the scandal later.


	8. Chapter 8

“The way I see it we've got two options,” Jones says. Then, after a pause, “Miles, are you even listening?”

Miles hums. “Kinda.” In his defense it's early morning. Jones knows he doesn't function very well before noon.

Jones sighs a put-upon sigh. His grudgingly fond annoyance is palpable even through the phone. “Two options, Miles,” Jones reiterates. “Either we do our best to sweep it under the rug and hope people are forgiving and forgetful _or_ we stage an early breakup.”

That gets Miles' attention. He glances over his shoulder towards the hall. Alex has yet to make an appearance this morning. Still, he lowers his voice. “Breakup?”

“Right. I'm leaning towards the latter, if I'm honest. We could get a lot of mileage out of a cheating scandal and subsequent breakup. Especially because, despite his status as a recluse, Alex has somehow managed to become the media's darling. People would be talking about it for weeks.”

Miles doesn't even consider it. “I'd not do that to him. Leave him looking like a bad guy. I want to set the record straight.”

It's all too easy to picture Jones sitting in his office, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers and scowling at his desk. “I figured you'd say that,” he says, sounding resigned. “Alright, Miles, but we've got to try and keep it controlled. You're not to go blabbing about it on social media and we'll rehearse the answers to certain questions before your next interview. Alright?”

“If we must,” Miles grumbles.

“We must,” Jones insists. “And tell Alex not to speak of it to anyone for any reason. You'll do all the talking.”

“As bloody usual. You know, the only reason he's managed to get in everyone's good graces is because he hardly ever opens his mouth- oh.” Miles cuts off as he glances over his shoulder again, only to find Alex leaning casually against the door frame, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped securely around his waist. He's clearly just showered- his hair is still dripping onto his collarbones and bare chest and, frankly, Miles is suddenly finding it hard to breath.

“I, er,” he stammers into the phone. “I'll- later,” he says, eloquently. He hangs up on Jones with no more warning than that. Jones would understand if he were seeing what Miles was seeing.

“Talking about me, were you?” Alex asks. He crosses his arms. His smirk is playful. “I'd say the only reason I never talk is because it's hard to get a word in edgewise with you around.”

There's no way Alex misses the way Miles' eyes wander. It's a once-over, as blatant as anything. But he doesn't mention it. His smirk only widens. “I were only joking,” Miles tells him. His brain doesn't seem to want to supply him with anything better to say. Alex's skin looks smooth and pale and he's unfairly toned, considering he spends at least half his time in front of a computer. It's all very distracting.

“I take it that was Jones, then? Calling to talk strategy?” Alex wonders.

Miles traces the subtle dip in his waist with his eyes. “Yep,” he says, popping the p.

“So? What's the plan, eh?”

Miles forces himself to stop following the trail of a water droplet as it slides down Alex's chest. He's bloody pornographic, he is. “Er, I talk. You sit there and look pretty. So, nothing new.” He can't help but wander closer, as if Alex has some sort of magnetic pull. Maybe he does. It would explain a lot.

Alex watches him draw near, eyes following him as he crosses the room, until Miles is close enough that he has to tilt his chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes hold a challenge. “Nothing new,” he parrots, but Miles barely hears him.

“What are you doing, Alex?”

“Thought I'd come and see if you'd cracked and started talking to yourself.” Alex's voice has gone low. He sounds distracted. “What are _you_ doing, Miles?”

Miles skims his fingers along the curve of Alex's cheekbones, collecting a drop of water. Alex's cheeks are warm, flushed, though whether that's from the heat of his shower or something else is hard to tell. His eyes never leave Miles'. “I don't know,” Miles admits.

Miles goes to retract his hand but Alex catches it in his own and for a moment they stand suspended. Alex looks like he's daring Miles to do something, anything, but- _Professional_. This is meant to be a _professional_ relationship. Miles shouldn't even be thinking about doing the things he wants to do to Alex, much less considering acting on them.

The spell is broken when Alex releases his hand. He touches his own face, where Miles had touched him a moment ago, and averts his gaze. “We've got interviews today,” he says. “Best get ready.”

“Right,” Miles agrees. Neither of them moves.

“I, er. Heard what you said,” Alex tells him softly. “About not, like, not leaving me... About setting the record straight. I just...” He shakes his head at himself. “Thanks, and that.”

“Course,” Miles says.

Alex offers him a small, surprisingly sweet smile before he turns on his heel- but he pauses and adds over his shoulder, “You know, you're not at all what I expected.”

Miles decides, as Alex disappears down the hall, to take that as a good thing.

-

“So, before we wrap this up, you know I have to ask about these photographs...”

This is the first interview of the day and Miles is flying solo. Alex and Jones are both standing at the sidelines watching with worryingly serious expressions. Miles rather wishes Alex were at his side. As a comfort.

“Photographs?” Miles prompts, playing dumb.

The interviewer produces two printed pictures. The two most incriminating. The one where Alex and Oliver appear to be embracing and one that shows them seated at a table, presumably making conversation over a nice dinner. Miles can only look at them for a second. They make him feel sick. Even now, knowing that it was innocent.

“Oh, those?” He laughs, playing it off. “Oliver's an old friend,” he lies, just as Jones had coached him to. “Alex went to dinner with him while we were in town.”

“ _Just_ an old friend?” She sounds skeptical.

“Yes, of course.” The red light of the camera flashes in his peripheral vision. Normally Miles wouldn't mind but, for whatever reason, he's hyper-aware of being filmed today.

“Miles, I hate to break it to you, but we have proof that Alex and Oliver were- or possibly still are- more than just 'friends'.” Her tone is cold and professional but her eyes give her away. She's delighted to deliver this news. Not, perhaps, because she's cruel, but because she knows such drama is going to get her viewers.

She produces more pictures from a bag at her side. Stomach turning, Miles leans forward to inspect them. Alex and Oliver are both clearly younger, which is a relief, but it's still off-putting in a strange way to see them sharing a kiss.

“Er,” he says. He casts a glance at Jones, who looks panicked. This is an unexpected turn of events. Miles wasn't coached on what to say here. “Er, I...”

“Were you aware of their history?”

“Yeah, course. Alex and I don't keep secrets from each other.” Another lie, probably. Miles hasn't gone out of his way to be secretive but who knows what secrets Alex has got up his sleeve.

“You knew they used to be romantically involved and you still condoned their dinner together? A dinner at which you were conspicuously absent?”

“I'm not sure what you're implying but I trust Alex,” Miles says, trying to sound flippant. Nonchalant. “I trust him _completely_.”

“Even now?”

Miles' eyes find Alex's across the room. “Yeah, even now. _Especially_ now.”

The interviewer glances between them with a knowing glint in her eye. “Alright,” she says, conceding gracefully, and with that she wraps things up. Alex is waiting for him when the camera shuts off. He looks pleased.

“Well done. Now I hope you're ready to spout the same bullshit twenty more times in a row.”

“I hope you're ready to sit there and listen to me do just that.”

Alex groans. “Christ. I'm gonna need a drink after all this.”

Miles looks at him, considering. “Alright. Drinks tonight. On me.”

Alex hesitates, then nods. But as he turns away he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Bad idea.” Whether he's reprimanding himself or Miles is hard to tell.

-

“Alright, you've got to tell me how it happened,” is Matt's greeting of choice when he joins them at the pub. He'd phoned ahead to let them know he'd be in town and it seemed the next logical step to invite him out. Miles is only mildly disappointed that it's no longer just the two of them. Alex, on the other hand, far from looking disappointed, actually seemed somewhat relieved when Miles broke the news to him.

Matt goes on, “Last time I saw you two was- what? My birthday? And you were at each others throats. And you, Miles, you're not exactly known for being the relationship type, right? Then suddenly you're a couple of lovebirds. I mean- called it, I did. I were telling Cookie just a few months ago you two'd crack one day and we'd find you shagging in the toilets or summat.”

“Were you lot taking bets?” Miles wonders, half-joking, but Matt's grin is telling.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Good to know my love life is a fucking game to you people.”

“Oh, come off it, Al,” Matt says. “It's not a game. It were just, like- we wanted you to be happy, you know?” He tilts his beer bottle in Miles' direction in a sort of cheers. “And you certainly seem it now.”

Alex is blushing. He tries to hide it by ducking his chin to no avail. Miles nearly laughs at him. Instead, he asks Matt, “Is that why you tried to set us up them years ago?”

“I guess Al told you that, eh? I had me reasons. Guess it were just wrong timing and that.”

Alex and Miles exchange a look. It's a look that holds an entire conversation. A silent debate about whether or not to let Matt in on the secret. They decide against it in the same instant. Alex turns back to him and says quietly, smile genuine, “Yeah, guess so.”

The wind up getting more pissed than they intended. Alex keeps trying to excuse himself. He's got to write, after all, or he'd like to avoid a hangover, or he'd like to get some decent shut-eye, but Matt keeps finding reasons for them to stay until, suddenly, it's nearly three in the morning and Alex and Miles are giggling like school children as Miles fumbles the key into the lock and pushes the door to his flat open. Miles isn't even sure what's so funny. It's something about Alex, probably, making him giddy. 

Miles sits heavily on the sofa and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Alex sits next to him without an invitation. Despite Alex's attempts to leave earlier it seems like they're both in agreement that it's not quite time for bed yet. Neither of them is eager to leave the company of the other.

“We probably should've told him,” Alex says. His eyes are still bright and happy. Could be the drink.

“Probably,” Miles agrees. “It'll be awkward once we... split...”

Alex groans. “I don't wanna think about that,” he says as he toes off his boots. “God, it's getting close though, innit?”

Truth be told, Miles doesn't want to think about it either. “I dunno. I guess. Me album comes out soon. And your book...”

“Oh, don't talk about the bloody book,” Alex complains. “That fucking deadline... Now you've gone and spoiled the mood.”

His pout is over-dramatic and adorable. Miles wants to kiss him. At this point it's not a new urge. It's not even surprising. It's not any easier to ignore than it ever has been, though. It might even be harder, what with the alcohol. “Mood? I weren't aware there was a _mood_ , Turner.”

Alex's pout vanishes, replaced by a carefully blank expression. He ignores Miles' comment. “What Matt said, about you, er. Not being the relationship type. It were true, weren't it?”

Miles shrugs. He's never felt ashamed about his propensity for one-night-stands or week long flings. He still isn't. But it is hard to admit, under Alex's scrutiny. “Yeah, 's true.”

“So... the way the papers paint you- that's all true?”

“Come on, you should by now it's not _all_ true. Although, hate to break it to you, but you're not my first PR stunt. The perpetual bachelor bit, though... Oi, don't give me that look. It's not like you're the _relationship type_ , either. In the two years I've known you it's been one bloke after another.” Miles was maybe, kind of, a little bit keeping track. Not on purpose, mind. He just couldn't help but notice whenever Alex pulled or was pulled. Every time it happened there was this little spark of jealousy. There Alex was taking blokes home, as casual as anything, and Miles was stuck taking models on fake dates and ignoring the impulse to flirt with the cute guy at the bar.

And, alright. Maybe he was also jealous for... other reasons. Reasons he'd rather not think too hard about.

“I used to be,” Alex sighs. “Before.”

“Before Oliver?”

“Yeah. After that it was just easier to stay unattached... But let's not talk about him or I'll need another drink.”

“You're an honest drunk,” Miles teases. “I like it.”

Alex reaches out to poke him in the shoulder. “As long as we're being honest,” he says, only slurring a little. “Let's talk about how you haven't actually read my book.”

Miles chuckles, caught off guard. “Alright, guilty as charged. Might do now, though.”

Alex pokes him again. “For shame.” He pauses, considers, then changes his mind. “Can't really blame you, though. It's shite.”

“Oh, shut up. You're brilliant. Everyone says so.” He intercepts another poke by taking hold of Alex's hand. “What are you doing?” he wonders, amused. “You know, we've been drunk together before and you were just a grumpy bastard.”

“Yes,” Alex agrees. Instead of fighting Miles' grip, he curls his fingers round Miles', holding on. “But now I _like_ you. So it's different.”

Miles glances between their clasped hands and Alex's warm, unguarded smile. They've come so far from trading insults and petty sabotage. “Do you?”

“You said it yourself. I'm an honest drunk.”

Miles' brain-to-mouth filter is, as usual, faulty. He knows he shouldn't push things but he can't seem to help himself. He leans forward, pulling on Alex's hand so he does same, until they're separated by mere inches. Miles watches him carefully. “Are you going to freak out again if I kiss you right now?”

Alex doesn't say anything. He doesn't nod or shake his head. For a moment he's completely still, as if taken by surprise, then his eyes drop to Miles' lips, and Miles decides to take that as permission.

Miles releases Alex's hand to take hold of his shirt instead. He pulls him into the kiss, meeting him halfway. He'd been afraid Alex would shove him off, get angry, but he does the opposite. He melts into it. His hands find their way under Miles' shirt to grip at his hips, thumbs digging in like he wants to keep Miles there. When Miles deepens the kiss Alex moans, quiet and pleased.

Alex is flushed by the time they separate. Miles imagines he's in much the same state. There's just something about Alex that's intoxicating.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Miles mumbles. He runs a thumb along Alex's collarbone, watching his chest rise and fall with quick breaths, wondering how far he's allowed to take this.

“Flatterer,” Alex accuses.

“You are,” Miles assures him. He plants another kiss at the corner of his lips, then several along his jaw. Alex shivers.

“Wait,” Alex says, quiet, as Miles is leaning in to kiss him again. Not so quiet that Miles doesn't hear, though. He immediately stops, backs off a little, giving Alex space. Anticipating another freak out.

Alex looks like he has to force himself to let go of Miles and he doesn't look particularly happy about it, which is somewhat reassuring. “Miles,” Alex sighs, looking conflicted. “We shouldn't...”

“We shouldn't or you don't want to?”

“You're drunk. _We're_ drunk.” He shakes his head at himself. “We shouldn't do this tonight. If, tomorrow...” He stops, starts again. “We should talk. When we're sober.”

Miles holds up his hands, surrendering. He refuses to try and coerce Alex into anything. “Alright. Tomorrow, then.” Alex goes to get up by Miles catches him by the wrist, stilling him. “Stay with me tonight, though. Please?” In the face of Alex's hesitance he adds, “No funny business, promise.”

Miles would like to think it says something about how much Alex trusts him now that he agrees. And Miles stays true to his word, of course. It's just that having Alex beside him is comforting- and he knows Alex sleeps better with someone else.

Alex falls asleep quickly but Miles is awake for a while yet, mind racing, alternately replaying the events of tonight over and over again and wondering what will come of their talk tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

When Miles wakes, Alex is gone. Miles doesn't have much time to panic, though. He finds a note in the kitchen, sat next to a bottle of paracetemol and a glass of water. Alex's handwriting is incredibly messy. Miles probably shouldn't find that so endearing.

_Gone for lunch with Alexa, be back in a jiffy. P.S. If you're as hungover as I am, you'll need these._

Miles is more hungover than he's been in a long while. On top of his headache he's also feeling sick to his stomach. He happily downs the paracetemol and considers crawling back into bed but it's already half past one and, what's more, he's so anxious about seeing Alex and having this grand talk he wants to have that he doubts he could get back to sleep even if he tried.

After his shower he feels a little better, a little optimistic, even, but that good feeling is shot to shit when he receives a text from Jones. It's a link to an online article. The headline reads _Miles Kane and Alex Turner: Calling it Quits?_ and includes a pap shot of them smiling at each other that Miles can't place a date on, and below that one of Alex and Oliver in New York. Another text from Jones comes in as Miles is skimming the article. It just says _call me_.

“You _bastard_ ,” is Miles' heartfelt greeting of choice.

“Now, Miles,” Jones begins, in a tone that suggests he knows he's done something wrong and is about to try and justify it. But Miles is having none of it.

“I _told you_ this is exactly what I _didn't_ want to happen! Fucking hell, Jones, this article makes out like Alex is cheating scum! What happened to sweeping it under the rug and all that shite? You said-”

“I know what I said,” Jones interrupts. He sounds overly calm. Almost condescending, which just serves to make Miles even angrier. “There was a change of plans.”

Miles' fist clenches and unclenches at his side as he paces the kitchen. “And you didn't feel the need to inform me beforehand? I'm only your bloody client, no need to keep _me_ in the loop, eh?”

Jones practically talks over him. “We decided to proceed with the breakup. More drama, more buzz. It's as simple as that, Miles. There was no malicious intent.”

Miles really should've seen this coming. Of course Jones would want to capitalize on the scandal. “ _Malicious intent_ ,” he scoffs. “What about all that bullshit you had me feeding the press? All that fucking _damage control_? Were that all just a waste of fucking time, then?”

“No. The interviews will still see the light of day, only with careful editing. It wasn't a waste of time.”

“Christ...” Miles stops his pacing in favor of sitting down heavily at the kitchen table. “You've got to undo it, Jones.” He's practically pleading. He hates himself for it but he can't do that to Alex. The way Alex had looked as he'd thanked Miles for 'not leaving'- and fuck if the notion that he sees the need to _thank_ people for that isn't a little heartbreaking- seems to be burned onto the backs of Miles' eyelids. “He'll never forgive me.”

“It's true that Alex and his publisher may never work with us again but I think they can be made to see reason,” Jones says. He's missing the point, as usual. “It's not all bad for them. Or- oh. Are you worried they'll expose us? I can assure you they won't. That would do more harm to their reputation than cheating rumors.”

“I'm not worried about them exposing us,” Miles says through gritted teeth. “I'm worried about-” He cuts himself off with an agitated huff. “Never mind. Just undo it, yeah?”

There's an ominous pause. “There's no going back now, Miles. The article I linked you to is far from the only one already in circulation...”

Miles lays his head down on the table and closes his eyes. This conversation isn't helping his headache in the slightest. “Fuck.”

There's another pause. Miles gets the feeling Jones isn't sure why he's objecting so strongly- and why would he? When they started all this Miles made no secret about the fact that he hated Alex. _That_ Miles would have laughed to see Turner's name being smeared in the papers. God, he was an asshole. “Come in to the office, Miles,” Jones says gently. “We'll talk things over. I've already had several calls from people looking to book you for more interviews. Everyone wants to be the first to speak to you about the breakup.”

Miles doesn't even bother with a reply. He hangs up on Jones and just sits there for a minute. The wooden tabletop is cool against his skin. He doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to have to think about what he's going to say to Alex.

Eventually he forces himself to get up, of course. He goes to the office like Jones asked him to and listens for hours as Jones justifies what he's done and details what Miles is supposed to say to the press about the breakup. Well, he half-listens, really, and when it's over he goes for a drink. Or two. Or a few. Mostly he's just putting off going home to face Alex.

The moon is up by the time he arrives back at the flat. He's not drunk, just buzzed. Barely that, really, but it'd felt necessary to take advantage of a little liquid courage.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before he opens the door, like he's bracing for a dive rather than preparing to be berated. It turns out he needn't have bothered. Alex must hear the door shut because moments later he rounds the corner and he's- smiling. Grinning, really, and before Miles can react Alex is in his space, palms flat against Miles' chest as he raises up to kiss the corner of his lips.

“What's this?” Miles asks, arms going round Alex, embracing him as if on instinct. But once he's got Alex there, pulled almost flush against him, he doesn't want to let go. He should, of course. He should let go and explain what's happened, as Alex clearly hasn't heard the news of their break up yet. But he can't.

Alex kisses him again, a quick peck. “I've been waiting on you,” he says, voice low and definitely suggestive. He's looking at Miles from under long, dark lashes with an expression Miles has never seen him wear before. He looks... confident, like the doubt that's plagued him about Miles has somehow been lifted.

Miles lets himself be drawn into another kiss. Alex coaxes him into deepening it with a soft nip at his bottom lip. Miles kisses back with a fervor he hadn't though himself capable of, even as a guilty, anxious knot forms in the pit of his stomach. He's so weak for Alex. It's something he's suspected for a while but now he's got undeniable confirmation. Alex has an effect on him that no one else has ever come close to matching.

By the time they separate Miles can hardly think. As Alex plants kisses along his jaw he manages to ask around a gasp, “What- what happened to talking?”

Alex pulls back to look him in the eye. “Alexa helped me realize something,” he says. “I were over-thinking it. It's simple.” He crooks an eyebrow. “I want you.”

Just hearing him utter the words has Miles' heart racing. The fact that he punctuates the statement with another heated kiss doesn't help matters.

“I want you,” Alex says again, practically a purr. “And I think, whatever our history, whatever else might be going on in that head of yours, you want me, too. Right?”

Miles grips Alex's waist. He can't deny it. He couldn't even try- Alex would see the lie in his eyes, he's sure of it. “Yes,” he admits, barely a whisper. “I- yeah, Alex, I do. Of course I do.”

“See? Simple.” Alex can't hide the delighted note in his voice. For the first time in two years, Miles thinks he might not even be trying. “Besides, it's not like we can go out and shag anyone else right now, eh? Not until all this is over.”

Deft, callused fingers find their way to the top button on Miles' shirt. Alex hesitates only the barest of seconds before he pops it and moves on to the next one. Miles should stop him. He should've stopped him at the first kiss. It seems an impossible task now, though, with Alex looking at him like that, his cheeks pink and eyes adoring.

Something in Miles just _gives_ when Alex kisses him again. Whatever resistance was left in him crumbles and his conscience is pushed aside. He'll regret this tomorrow, he knows he will, but that doesn't stop him pushing Alex up against the wall and kissing his way down his neck, across his collarbone. It doesn't stop him ridding Alex of his shirt, touching him all over like he's trying to memorize every detail of his body, as if it's the only chance he'll get. In all fairness, it very well could be.

His conscience doesn't stop him getting on his knees, either. Alex grins down at him, looking half-manic, as Miles runs his hands over his thighs and asks questions with his eyes, silently begging Alex to just _let him_. He's feeling uncharacteristically desperate. Just another way things are different with Alex.

Alex's knees nearly buckle when Miles finally gets his mouth on him. He curses emphatically under his breath- but those curses quickly turn to moans. His voice alone is enough to have Miles' head swimming. And when Alex pets at his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and breathes Miles' name- reverently, _lovingly_ \- Miles figures it's probably the best sound he's ever heard.

Alex is still. Careful. Too careful in Miles' opinion. Miles wouldn't mind a little hair-pulling, a little face-fucking. Might be a bit much, that, but Miles urges him on anyhow, with moans and words and careful touches until Alex loosens up, gets loud. He's beautiful. He's flushed, his ears and cheeks and chest, his hair is a right mess, and he's bitten his lip red but Miles can't even remember the last time he looked at someone and felt- like _this_. It's not a feeling he's able or willing to put a name to but it's overwhelming. He never wants to look away.

Alex doesn't have to warn that he's close- Miles can tell. He pulls off, bites at Alex's thigh as Alex spills over his hand. Alex gasps his name- again in that tone of voice, like he can hardly believe Miles is real. He slides to his knees and grips Miles' face in his hands. For a moment he just looks, eyes darting over Miles' features, taking in this detail and that. Maybe he's trying to do some memorizing of his own.

Alex crushes their mouths together like he's still wanting. It's a kiss laden with feeling. Miles is the one to break it- but Alex doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest.

“Shower,” he insists, breathless.

Miles follows him without complaint. Alex undresses him. He stops here and there to plant kisses, to run his hands over Miles' chest or hips or bum, to whisper alternating compliments and filth, or just to drink him in with his eyes. Miles revels in the attention. He returns each compliment given with one of his own, until Alex is blushing trying to hide a smile.

In the shower Alex cleans him up, gentle as gentle can be, all the while ignoring his cock. Miles doesn't utter a word of complaint, though. It's all part of the fun and he knows this game. It means that when Alex finally turns him round, his chest flush against Miles' back, and _finally_ gets a hand on him he could cry with how good it feels. He has to brace himself, hands against the wall. Alex has got him so worked up it doesn't take much. Just Alex's hand on his cock, a teasing finger at his entrance, and Alex saying all the right things, lips against his ear.

Neither of them is keen to stop touching, after. They dry off in a hurry and don't bother dressing. Instead, Miles picks Alex up and carries him into the bedroom. They fall into bed laughing. It feels like the last lingering wariness between them is gone and they can be free with each other.

Until Miles remembers that, very soon, Alex will be cross with him all over again.

He refuses to dwell on it. Not when Alex is lying in his arms, smiling at him like Miles is all he needs to be content. No one has ever smiled at Miles like that before.

“No nightmares tonight,” Alex whispers into the dark after the giggles subside. He sounds relieved. He traces the line of Miles' jaw with a callused fingertip. “I _can_ stay, can't I?”

“Of course,” Miles says immediately, without a thought. He tightens his hold. “I- I wouldn't want you anywhere else.”

Alex kisses him, chaste and sweet. “Good. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

-

It's a miracle that Miles is able to fall asleep with the way the guilt is churning his stomach. He's not even aware it happens but one second the moon is throwing light through the cracks in the blinds, silver moonbeams are falling over Alex's serene, sleeping face, and the next the sun is shining bright and Alex is gone.

Miles still feels all the places Alex touched him. For a moment he closes his eyes and revels in the memories. Reality will taint them soon enough, best bask in them while he can.

He only forces himself out of bed when he hears movement in the kitchen. He dresses before he goes out to face Alex. Normally he wouldn't bother- he's about as unashamed as they come- but something compels him to this time. It's comforting, maybe. He's going to have to break the news to Alex and deal with the fallout.

But it becomes clear as soon as Miles rounds the corner that he won't have to break the news himself after all. Alex is dressed as well, he's gone out, maybe for breakfast. His back is to Miles but his shoulders are stiff, tense, and he says without turning around, “You knew about this.”

It's not a question. Alex's voice is cold- it's a startling contrast to how he'd been last night. Miles doesn't say anything. He watches, waiting.

Alex finally turns around, tabloid in his grasp. Miles can guess the headline this morning. “You _knew_ ,” he says again, now sounding defeated. Betrayed.

“I tried to stop it.”

“Did you?” Alex glances down at the tabloid. He looks like he's seconds away from ripping it to shreds. “Fucking cheating scumbag- _that's_ what they're making me out to be.” His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Oliver's final fuck you, eh? As if I'd ever...” He trails off, shaking his head. “You said you wouldn't let this happen. I _thought_ you wouldn't let this happen. And last night... You should've fucking told me. Before.”

Miles can't defend himself. He's got nothing to defend himself with. “I know,” he says, quiet. “I'm sorry.”

“It's me own bloody fault. For thinking I could trust you. I should know better by now.”

Miles reaches out to him on instinct but Alex jerks himself out of reach. His glare is impressive. “Don't fucking touch me,” he snaps.

Miles feels the words like a physical slap. He drops his hand. “Alex, last night-”

“Don't say it. I know what last night was. You saw your opportunity and took it.” Alex throws the tabloid onto the counter like he's anxious to be rid of it. “You know, it wouldn't hurt so bad if I hadn't told you. But you _knew_ that wanker cheated on me and now you've gone and-” He cuts himself off with a disgusted noise. “Get out me way, I'll need me things if I'm to leave.”

Miles stands in the mouth of the hall like a stone, unmoving. He wants to fix this. Normally he's so good at saying what people want to hear, at talking them round, but for the first time in years his words have left him. He doesn't know _how_ to fix it. He's already said sorry.

“Fucking move,” Alex insists. “No reason for me to be here anymore, is there?” When Miles doesn't listen he shoves his way past none-too-gently. Miles lets him, and he watches Alex disappear down the hall into what Miles suspects he will always think of as Alex's room.

Miles can't watch him pack up his things. He can't watch him leave. Instead he retreats back into his own room and sits listlessly on the bed, listening. When he hears the front door shut some time later something in him snaps.

Miles isn't prone to tears. He doesn't cry often or easily. Even now there are no tears- just a terrifying new ache in his chest. Is this what losing someone feels like?

Miles lays on the bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks, _I should've told him I love him_.


	10. Chapter 10

Miles doesn't know what to _do_.

He wants to talk to Alex, to see him, more than anything. He spends the entire day after his departure staring at his phone, typing out texts that he can't actually bring himself to send and hoping dimly that Alex might ring. He tries to do other things, to distract himself, but it's useless. He swings between feeling empty, completely hollow, and feeling overwhelmed by grief and guilt. He's never been through a breakup before but he imagines this is what it would feel like. He doesn't know how to cope or what's supposed to happen next or how to even _begin_ fixing it. He's almost afraid to try- what if it can't be fixed?

He never does text and Alex never does call and the next day finds Miles sat on a sofa across from a journo with an understanding smile. Real or fake, it does nothing to soothe Miles, who can't seem to stop fidgeting as he waits impatiently for him to move past the polite, easy part of the interview and start asking about Alex. He knows it's coming, Jones had told him as much. He's been thoroughly coached on how best to answer, too. He's meant to seem upset- something that he's probably managing without even trying- but to keep things vague. This way, Jones had said, it's not like he's actually lying to anyone. All he has to do is let them believe what they want to believe.

Which is all fine and dandy but Miles chooses to ignore his advice. Instead, when the interviewer asks gently if he and Alex are okay, Miles replies with a surprisingly vehement, “He _didn't_ cheat on me.”

The interviewer blinks at him. Evidently this wasn't an answer he was prepared for. “Er,” he says, glancing at his notes. “But the relationship _is_ over, correct?”

_I hope not_ , Miles thinks. He'd woken up this morning in a groggy daze and had forgotten, briefly, that Alex wasn't there. Not in his room, not in the kitchen reading or making tea, not sat on the sofa watching telly or out on the balcony having a smoke. Realizing it was like having Alex walk out all over again.

“It... is,” Miles grudgingly admits.

“Then perhaps you'd like to tell us what really happened?”

“It's just- it weren't his fault. Let's leave it at that, yeah?”

Of course the interviewer doesn't want to leave it at that. He prods on, asking questions like _are the two of you still in contact_ and _have you seen Alex since the fallout_? Miles declines to answer almost all of them.

Miles expects Jones to scold him for giving a piss poor interview but instead, after it's over, Jones gives him a horrid pitying look and pats him on the shoulder. Miles would almost prefer the scolding.

Unfortunately that's only the first interview of many. It gets harder and harder to say Alex's name, until the interviews mostly devolve in Miles mumbling and dodging questions and trying not to let on that he's shaking. He can tell the various journalists and hosts are getting frustrated with him- and for good reason. By the end of it he's frustrated with himself.

He dials Matt straightaway when he's finally set free. He lights a cigarette and takes a delighted drag as he waits for Matt to pick up. It calms him somewhat, so that by the time Matt says, “Hello?”, Miles feels less like he's going to choke on his own heart.

“Have you seen him?” Miles asks in a rush, skipping the pleasantries.

Matt hesitates. “... Seen who?”

“You know bloody well who.”

Miles thinks he catches a sigh but it could very well be static. “Nah, I've not seen him. Heard from him, though.”

The fact that Matt doesn't immediately elaborate seems foreboding. Miles holds smoke in his lungs for a moment, then exhales. It's raining, which seems fitting. Miles has taken shelter under an awning. His car is waiting just down the street, ready to take him home, but he ignores it. “...And?” he prompts. He's not sure what he wants or expects to hear.

“And... I dunno, mate. He were in a right state if you want the truth. Couldn't get much sense out of his babbling- dunno if he were sad or angry. Both, I guess. There was summat about you being a liar somewhere in there.”

Matt doesn’t ask for an explanation. Miles doesn't provide one. “What do I do?” he asks instead, the words tripping out of his mouth without his permission. They've got a little too much of a desperate edge to them for his liking.

“Er, what do you usually do when you argue?”

“What?”

“Don't tell you two've _never_ argued. All couples argue, mate.”

Miles opens his mouth, closes it again. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that Matt wasn't in on the secret. “I... I don't- we've never-”

“ _Never_? Really? Christ. You two used to be at each other all the time _before_ you started shagging. How'd you work that out?”

“We started shagging.”

Matt's laugh is infectious enough to coax a smile out of Miles. “Well, summat tells me that won't help you here, eh? I dunno, mate. He'll come round. He's mad about you, I can tell.”

“I think I love him.” Again the words come spilling out without his permission and he almost immediately wants to retract them- but it's also a relief, in a weird way, to have them out there. It's a relief for another human being to _know_.

“I figured,” Matt says softly, and that's a relief, too. “Give him time. Apologize. All that shite.”

Miles feels marginally better by the time he hangs up. Less like everything is completely hopeless.

Just give Alex time. Right.

-

Thankfully he's got plenty to keep him busy over the next few days. As the release of his album draws ever closer there's more and more promo to do, more and more parties to attend.

He texts Alex on the third day. Just a simple, _i'm sorry_. Alex doesn't reply.

It's a week before Miles sees him again, staring up at him from the cover of a gossip rag. Jones hands him the tabloid like he's afraid of the reaction it might garner. At first Miles isn't sure why- he's too fixated on Alex. It's only been a week but it feels like it's been an age. Alex looks poorly, really, with his hair a mess, circles under his eyes so dark they look like they've been painted on, and a defensive slump to his posture, but Miles' heart still does a funny little jump in his chest when he lays eyes on him.

Then he takes in the rest of the picture. Alex is holding some bloke's hand, pulling him along behind him, and the headline promises more 'scandalous' pictures inside. He doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to know what Alex has been up to- not if what he's been up to is shagging other blokes. Just this, just him holding _hands_ with some guy as they leave a club is bad enough. Miles' imagination serves to fill in the rest. Them drinking, them flirting- maybe they danced? Then, after, Alex leaning close and inviting this stranger back to his with a wicked smirk on his face.

It's not a betrayal, not really, but it feels like one.

Miles places the tabloid face down on the table. He looks up at Jones. “And?”

“You don't want to read it?”

“No.”

Jones squints at him like he's trying to figure him out. “They praise you left, right, and center in that article.”

Miles shrugs.

Evidently his lack of reaction throws Jones off. He shuffles awkwardly and then decides to move swiftly on. He launches into a review of upcoming events that Miles mostly ignores. He spends the meeting staring blankly at the tabloid, distantly hoping it will burst into flame. He never does find out why Jones wanted to show it to him. An attempt to show him how little he should care about Alex, perhaps?

He doesn't care any less. As more pictures of Alex emerge over the next couple of days he just gets angry.

Hard to stay that way, though. Not when Miles wakes to a voicemail from Alex, left at about three in the morning. He slurs, “I- I dunno why I'm calling you. I should hate you, right? But I can't fucking sleep and- and I wanted you to know, that bloke... I couldn't. Like, I were trying to prove a point, I think. But I just couldn't. And now the papers are making a big thing out of it and I should hate you for that, too, probably. I bet you don't even care, eh?” He laughs, once, a bitter sound, and the voicemail abruptly cuts off.

Miles replays it several times. _Should_ , he'd said. It's something.

He calls Alex back a day later. It goes straight to voicemail. Miles doesn't leave one.

He doesn't think twice about accepting when Jamie invites him out two days later.

“A bunch of us, I dunno,” is what he says when Miles asks who'll be there. Miles would be lying if he said he wasn't going in the hopes that Alex might make an appearance.

His hope wasn't in vain, as fate would have it. The pub is crowded but Miles' eyes go directly to Alex, leaning against the bar, bottle in hand, head down, alone. Miles blinks, half expecting him to disappear. He doesn't.

A part of Miles was looking forward to this, anxious to speak with him, but his first instinct is still to turn tail and run. Alex hasn't seen him yet, he's only just arrived, he could get away with slipping out the door and no one would ever have to know he was here. Running might even be the _sensible_ thing to do. But Miles has never been sensible where Alex is concerned. Or much in general, for that matter.

His feet carry him toward Alex of their own accord but he finds, stood mere feet away, that he doesn't know what to say. Alex notices him before he's able to come up with anything. He looks at Miles with a guarded, wary expression and that... hurts. Miles hadn't expected Alex to greet him with a smile but he'd hoped Alex would never again have cause to regard him with such suspicion.

“Kane,” Alex says, monotone. “Weren't aware you'd be attending this little soiree.”

“It were... last minute. Where are the others?”

Alex gestures vaguely over his shoulder, at a table where the lot of their friends are sat. Matt and Jamie have cottoned on to Miles' presence. Jamie is watching them like a hawk, Matt is casting unsubtle glances. Miles gives them a little wave, mostly as a reassurance that he and Alex aren't about to duke it out in front of the whole pub.

Alex taps his fingers on the bar. He looks like he'd kill for a cigarette. He rakes his eyes over Miles, up and down, taking him in, but Miles can only assume it's not deliberate. When he catches himself at it he abruptly turns his gaze away. “Suppose you came for another shag, eh?”

“What?”

“'S all I'm good for, right?”

“Don't put words in me mouth. I never said that.”

Alex stares hard at his beer bottle. “No, you didn't. Heard it loud and clear anyway.”

“Oh, don't be- Look, what is it you think? That I somehow planned all that? Don't be daft.”

“Planned?” Alex finally meets his eye and Miles is struck by how tired he looks. And incredulous. “Did you or did you not know about _your_ manager's fucking plan to throw me under the fucking bus?” he hisses. “You expect me to buy that you didn't? And you still let me-” He cuts himself off with a pained, embarrassed noise. He runs a hand over his face.

Miles glances anxiously at the mass of people around them, several of which are already glancing curiously at them, perhaps on the verge of recognition. Miles inches closer, lowers his voice. “Alex, I want to talk about this, yeah? It didn't happen like- like you think it happened. But maybe this isn't the best place?”

Alex's noise of agreement is muffled behind his palm.

“You live round here right? Why don't we-”

“No,” Alex says. “No, that's not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I've been... drinking. And you're...” He gestures. “'S just not a good idea.”

“Alright... Tomorrow, then?” Miles' eye catches on a fading hickey, just below Alex's collar. He shakes his head, looks away. “I just want to talk, Alex.”

For a moment he looks like he might refuse the request, but finally he acquiesces with a nod. “Fine. Tomorrow night. Come by. But don't you dare bring any bloody paparazzi to my doorstep.” He starts to shrug into his coat, eye already on the door. He downs the rest of his drink in one go.

“Where are you going?” Miles wonders. “The lads-”

“Don't really fancy sitting across from you all night. I'm going for a smoke, then I'm going home. Alright with you?” Alex sneers.

Miles holds up his hands in mock surrender. He watches as Alex weaves his way through the crowd and out the door. Then all that's left is to face the rest of the lads. He tries to do it with a smile. They're gracious enough not to ask for details- not about he and Alex's relationship or its end, but he can feel them wondering, judging. He doesn't stay long.

-

Alex's flat says a lot about him. There's paint and posters on the walls and newspaper clippings on the fridge and framed photographs on the mantle. There's an impressive collection of vinyl in one corner and a row of overflowing bookshelves in the other. The place is damn near spotless, with the exception of a small gathering of used teacups on an end table, an ash tray that's clearly seen a lot of use lately, and a pen and notebook that've been abandoned on the kitchen counter.

It's small but it feels and looks more lived in than Miles' flat ever has. And it suits Alex. The whole place smells like him, or maybe he smells like it- cigarette smoke and paper and something indefinable. 

Miles wanders over to the collection of vinyl. He thumbs idly through them as Alex looks on, arms folded over his chest. He's tense, like he's just waiting to be judged negatively, but he seems less... antagonistic than last night. Less likely to yell and get angry. Miles throws him a smile over his shoulder.

“Nice place you've got here,” he says.

“Not as nice as yours.”

“No, but I like it better.” Miles holds up a vinyl with a triumphant noise. “So you have heard me record!”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yeah. But I didn't buy that, that were all Matt.”

“Christ. How much did he have riding on that bet exactly?”

Alex shrugs. He hadn't bothered dressing up for Miles' visit but Miles doesn't mind. This Alex, clad only in an over-sized shirt and sweatpants so long they cover his toes, is just as appealing to Miles as the Alex who wears shiny shoes and button downs and, on one memorable occasion, braces. In fact he might even prefer this Alex- he seems less guarded, more approachable. It's not the first time Miles has had this realization but right now he's certainly thankful for it. It's so much preferable to the way Alex had been last night.

Miles replaces his own record- right back where he got it from, lest he disrupt Alex's careful organization. “You know, I, er. Read your book. Finally.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, mate. You're brilliant, just like everyone said. I couldn't put it down til I were finished.”

Alex doesn't know what to do with the compliment. He fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Miles sighs. “Alright. I'll admit, I don't even know where to start. Where do we stand, Alex?”

Alex scrubs a hand through his hair. “I dunno, Miles. I just- you want to make amends, right? Then I need to know why you let them drag me name through the mud like they did.”

“That's just it, I didn't _let_ them. In fact I specifically told them not to.” He closes some of the distance between them, hands outstretched, but he stops just short of actually touching Alex and lets them fall back to his sides. “I would _never_ do that to you on purpose, Alex. I swear it.”

Alex's eyes flick over his face, looking for some sign of a lie, perhaps, but Miles can tell that his sincerity is softening him. “But you knew about it, didn't you?”

“I... Yeah, I did. And I should've told you straightaway. I were going to, in fact, but-”

“But I made a fool of meself before you got the chance.”

“ _No_ , Alex.” Miles does touch him then, the barest brush of his fingertips against Alex's arm. Miles has always been a tactile person. He wants to take Alex's hands, or grab him by the shoulders, or cup his face or _something_ but Alex is still holding himself like he expects to shatter- or be shattered- at any moment so Miles refrains. “Look, I've never- I don't know how to-” Miles cuts himself off, frustrated, and starts again. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I found out. But I thought, if you knew, you'd leave. And I very much didn't want you to leave.”

Alex bites his lip. His eyes flutter down to the floor and back up again. Finally, he says, voice soft, “Why did you want me to stay?”

It's now or never. Miles has never said these words to anyone outside of his family. He's half afraid they'll get lodged in his throat, forever unsaid, but when he looks at Alex, who he's spent the last few months getting to know, the last few months falling for, it seems easy to admit. “I love you,” he says gently. “I'm _in_ love with you and I didn't want to believe it and I was stupid about it and I'm sorry.”

Miles wonders if Alex can hear his silent plea to not break his heart. Maybe he can. He finally unfolds his arms. He seems in shock. “What?”

“I don't know how else to put it, Alex. I love you.”

Alex opens his mouth, closes it again, and for a moment it's silent. Finally he says, “Do you really?”

Miles dares a smile. “Yes, I really do. And I want to do this right. The whole, like, boyfriend thing. Like, dates that no one else even knows about and I want to meet your mum and I want you to come see me play because you want to, not because you have to, and I want to be around when you can't sleep and need someone, and I want to make you tea in the mornings and I don't want either of us to be shagging someone else-”

Alex smiles back at him, hesitant but real. He holds up a hand, cutting him off. “I think I get the gist.”

“And?” Miles finally takes Alex's hands. He strokes his thumbs over his knuckles. “Please tell me I'm not alone in all this. I dunno if you realize but it took a lot of balls admitting that to you just now, don't ruin it by rejecting me.”

Alex laughs. “Wow, charming, aren't you?” He shakes his head but it's fond exasperation. “I think I'd like that, yeah. Trying out the whole... _boyfriend thing_. So apology accepted and that.”

“Good.” Miles is grinning, can't help it. He lightly touches the fading hickey on Alex's neck. “Then you shouldn't mind my saying that I'll be glad when this fucking thing is gone.”

Alex's cheeks go pink. “That were, er. As far as we got.”

“I know. I got your message.”

Alex's blush deepens. “Then you know it were cause of you... I guess I should apologize, too. For jumping to conclusions.”

“Apology accepted.” Miles tugs him closer. “I'm going to kiss you now. Alright?”

Alex nods, eyes dropping to Miles' lips. Miles winds his arms around him and kisses him with a depth of feeling he wasn't aware he possessed. Kissing Alex has never been like kissing anyone else and now Miles can admit that he knows why. Because he's so bloody in love with him.

Alex clings when they separate, his fingers gripping Miles' shirt. He doesn't seem in any hurry to move.

“Should I go?” Miles asks softly. He tugs lightly on a strand of Alex's unstyled hair. “It's getting late.”

Alex pulls back to look him in the eye. “Leave now and I'll never forgive you.”

Miles soothes him with another peck on the lips. “Alright. I'll stay. Gladly.”

-

The clock on Alex's nightstand (an antique analog, by the looks of it, which is charming but difficult to read when one is sleepy) is showing six when Miles wakes up. The sun is just peeking over the horizon and Alex is climbing back into bed.

“Where you been, love?” Miles whispers, voice sleep-rough. He curls closer as Alex settles beside him.

Alex smiles at him, that smile that Miles has come to realize is pure fondness. He reaches over to tuck a strand of Miles' hair behind his ear. He's still only wearing boxers and a t-shirt with a gaping neck that does nothing to hide the marks Miles left him with last night. Miles was maybe feeling a little territorial. “It's finished,” Alex says. “The book. It's done.”

“That's wonderful, babe.” Miles takes his hand, smiling back. He pulls him into a quick kiss. “Any particular reason you had to finish it at arse o'clock in the morning, though?”

“I... couldn't sleep.” Alex's smile dims somewhat. “Er, I'm glad you stayed, I am. Last night was perfect, Miles, and I'm trying to just enjoy this. But I keep thinking- what happens next?”

“...What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, with us.”

Miles scrubs at his eyes, willing himself to wake up enough for this conversation. “I told you last night. I want to be your boyfriend, as soppy as that makes me.”

“But what about the press? They all fucking hate me now, they'll hate you for taking me back. And your manager, and the fans who think I wronged you...”

Miles tilts a brow at him. “Are you trying to talk me out of it or summat?”

“What? No, of course not. I'm just saying, like. I get it if you, you know, want to keep it a secret for a while. If you don't want people to know.”

Miles can practically see Alex retreating more and more into himself the longer he talks. He understands why Alex is so cautious, so wary. It's a rather abrupt turnaround for Miles. But it is genuine, and Miles wants to show him that it is. He takes Alex's face in his hands and forces him to meet his eye. “Shut up,” he says gently. “I'm done keeping secrets. I want everyone to know. I'll shout it from the rooftops. By the end of the week people will be sick of hearing me talk about how wonderful you are. Alright?”

Alex nods. He's gone a delightful shade of pink and his smile blooms beneath Miles' touch. “I'm trusting you,” he says. He sounds rather happy about it.

“And I'm trusting you.”

Alex turns his face to plant a kiss on Miles' palm.

“It won't be easy,” Miles tells him. “I won't lie to you. There'll be bad press and idiot paparazzi and I'll have to go on tour soon, but I don't care. I'll put up with all of it for as long as you put up with me.”

Alex shakes his head. He looks on the verge of promising forever- or maybe Miles' imagination is running away with him again. Alex doesn't promise forever but he does ask with a smirk, “Shall I call mum then and let her know we're coming round for a visit?” which is nearly the same thing.

“I do have a couple days off now. She'd kill us if we didn't, eh?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Miles laughs. “Yes, Alex, I'd love to meet your parents. I've got to weasel some good stories out of them for blackmail purposes.”

Alex pouts, over-dramatic, so Miles peppers his face with kisses until he's stifling a giggle. “You're ridiculous,” he says, but he's tangling their legs together under the covers and winding his arms around Miles as he says it. He even makes it sound like a good thing.

“I love you,” Miles tells him. He's said it before- last night, in fact- but it comes out more somber and serious than he'd meant and Alex stills next to him.

For a moment Miles is afraid he's fucked up, that Alex is going to push him away again, and it's a fear he imagines he'll be having to battle for a while. But Alex doesn't push him away this time. He smiles up at him and says, simply, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://www.dontcareajot.tumblr.com)! <3


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